At the workhouse

I forgot to mention that after the man had read what I'd written about my autism, he asked me if I'd be interested in working at a potato farm. 'It's not the sort of place where you'd be expected to chat with people. You just sort the potatoes by size into sacks. It would involve heavy lifting.' What with the twelve hour shifts too, it didn't sound remotely like something I could do. If I did that, then I would lose my ability to play. Playing is the only thing about myself I am completely at ease with. If I couldn't play anymore, then there would be no point in being here.