I just wrote a page worth of stuff, and somehow my laptop managed to not save it. God.
It wasn't actually anything interesting. All I wrote was something like:
Work was shit today.
Like seriously. The kind of day that makes you think you're really bad at your job.
I had to drag myself out of bed this morning, which isn't exactly a surprise considering it was 0545 and still completely dark outside. I made it to work just in time (how I managed to be late for an 0800 start when I got up at 0545, I don't know) and spent the day splitting my thoughts between "I wonder if anyone has ever actually died of boredom", and "will the rain ever stop?"
My "friend" Matt totally blanked me the whole day too. I mean, that guy is such a fucking woman sometimes.
The best part about the whole day was coming home. 10 hours at work is too much for anyone who wants to have a life. It's a joke. It constantly feels more and more these days that as soon as I get home all I want to do is go to bed. What kind of existence is that? Work-home-sleep-work-home-sleep?
Answer: A bollocks one.
I absolutely cannot wait until Sunday, when I get to do something that I actually want to do.
♥
