venerdì, marzo 05, 2010

Mr. Right is losing his muscle tone


Work has been so busy, and promises to be so busy next week, that I, a lily of the fucking field if I'm anything, have been out of my fucking brain. It was a relief to wake up sick this morning so as to be able to call in sick, though I'm still taking care of a pile of stuff here and dealing with a situation which will only get more annoying as the weeks go on; I'm nearly hoping it implodes, as I know it eventually must, in the near term just so I can get it over with, but since I'm that annoying stage of under-manager I have no power to make it do so, which is 3/4 of the frustration in itself.

Anyways, you know how busy I've been? I don't even remember the last time I've had a wank. Can you believe that shit? I'm a female, childless grass consumer in my early thirties with a boyfriend who works long and tiring hours; I should be servicing myself - well, actually, I don't know how often I should be servicing myself in statistical average terms, but my common sense tells me at least twice a week. But nope. Nada. None. My week: come home late from work, spend some couple time, read a dozen or so pages of whatever book, conk out, roll out of bed, and go to work. It sucks. Frankly I'd nearly forgotten how. I hate being a yuppie. Don't know how much longer I can last. I love the money too much, that's my fucking problem.

Gripe gripe gripe. Oh well, one day at a time. Will get through more work, light a pipe, and put on some Spiritualized. I wonder if anyone else thought the lyrics to "Soul on Fire" were
I've got a hurricane between my legs," rather than the much lousier "I've got a hurricane inside my veins". I also wonder if there's any single band over the last 15 years that so many women have soundtracked their self-service to. This is the sort of thing I really wish Eurostats would look into.

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