So I’ve basically lost the tweezer war with the grey hairs and the sometime chap bled all over my flat through his nose, making my house resemble a crime scene.
I worked, I called my mother, I tidied and cleaned. The super expensive treadmill is still sitting in the laundry. I am wearing my pink nordic-themed onesie. I have wine.
I ordered a doco off iTunes on the NY Times because I am a nerd and it was shit and wobbly and the sound was fucked so I sent a very terse email. No response as yet.
I still have a job so far (redundancies – 33 from the newsroom which will be forced if they don’t get the numbers). I had thought maybe I’d put in for it and it would make me finally motivated enough to write a few romance novels because of the pressure etc but a) I’d probably spend four months drinking wine in my pyjamas and b) Dad said that was “the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever fucking heard”. In other words, not a life plan. And he’s probably right.
Happy end of weekend you bastards who didn’t have to work today. I’ve got a 3-day weekend coming up. Yeah, you’re welcome.