And so Job Envy rears its ugly head once more.
In the 40 years I've been on this planet, I've never seen a job I'd be better at or where I could make a bigger difference.
It pays about £33.000 Probably just about enough, as the only way I could even consider working was if Dave could give up his job to be my PA.
But here's the killer line
"will be expected to work very flexibly and to participate in a system of shift working including regular overnight shifts" (In London :(( )It's full time, and realistically, it would probably be way more hours than that.
Well, that's me out then.
The huge irony is that I'll be doing the job remotely, for free, anyway. Probably at least full time. I'll just be doing it from my beanbag, on my laptop with a vomit bowl nice and close to hand.
Is it really beyond us in the 21st century to trust that if they would only let me do it that way, I'd be the best person they would ever get?
Even more ironically, I can only work very flexibly using a system of shift working including overnight shifts!!! The elephant in the room is that I can't say when that might be. It might be 14 hours a day. Or it might be none.
For the first time I can remember, I'm even considering asking if they might make some fairly unreasonable adjustments.
Then, I remember how ill I feel. All the time. I wake up in the morning ill and in pain. I go to bed ill and in pain. I'm not moaning, that's just how it is. But every time I ever let a dream like this creep in, the sheer scale of the pain and exhaustion I'd feel all the time looms, daunting; enormous.
Every day I do it for myself, I choose. If I just can't do it, I go back to bed. If dangerous levels of relapse loom, I can step back.
The minute I promise to do it for someone else, for money, I have to change the only way I can do this and slowly, I get critically ill.
You couldn't build a better trap.