Monday 19th September

Having a ‘day-job’ really takes it out of you.

I must confess that I don’t have massive experience of sustained, week on week, ‘workiness’ since what generally happens is that my employers and I reach a parting of the ways when said employers finally take on board the fact that the shuffling noises coming from the direction of my desk,  bear no relation at all to any tangible or measurable output.

In other words, I’m chewing gum, moving my stacks of paper around and smiling charmingly every time anyone comes near me.

No, it’s not the scale of my endeavours that is tiring me out so much but the time restrictions.

I don’t always feel like being up by 7.30 in the morning and quite honestly, I’m more partial to a gentle amble around the house in the morning, than a blind scramble toward the bathroom via the Nescafe cupboard in my frantic haste to get myself wedged into my black trousers before the traffic builds up too much on the A6.

My smeggy-eyed morning dash is hampered by frequently tripping over Dalmatians, teenagers and more often than not these days, random kids that I have never seen before but apparently, stayed over last night.

Then when I finally get to the workplace, the capitalist slave-drivers refuse to let me leave until 5pm.

What about my needs?

What if what I really want to do is catch up on the X Factor auditions from last night instead of putting invoices in envelopes or whatever it is that I’m supposed to be doing?

Why, pray, am I shackled to this bloody chair for seven hours at a time?

I don’t get time to write. Having a hang-over means coming up with one of my ‘emergency surgery’ stories and a day out at Bluewater requires yet another dead relative.

Plus, work is full of weirdos and people that, under normal circumstances, you would never, ever mix with.

To illustrate this fact, an elderly gentleman from the warehouse just opened a carrier bag to show me the dead rabbit that he will be cooking for his dinner tonight.

He seemed surprised when I screamed, shot backwards, crashing into the printer and knocking it off its stand.

Being pretty elderly, he obviously didn’t know that in polite society, we stopped poaching, skinning and stewing bunnies around the same time as we stopped building our houses out of shit.

I need a lie down.

Apparently I’m not allowed to do that here either.

Talk about human rights violations.

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4 thoughts on “Monday 19th September

  1. Ha, ha … that’s really cheered me up. After a particularly awful day at work I can totally relate to this. You may have had a break from writing but you certainly ain’t lost it!

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