2-50pm and I really feel the need to sleep. Whenever I fall asleep in the day I have truly weird dreams. Not just the usual weird ones but really fucking warped ones about hairdressing salons being taken over by ducks or running naked through fields of wheat.
Maybe I should write a book of dreams. Just before I’m sectioned.
Clock watching. Guilty I’m afraid. Can there be anything more demoralising? I sit in the office at 5pm counting down the last half hour which inevitably makes it the longest half hour of the day. It gets to the cut off point of 5-20. Anyone who calls after 5-20
becomes the devil himself and a torrent of silent abuse rises within me. Especially if it’s been quiet all day and at 5-30, when everyone else is grabbing their coats, you’re still stuck on the phone to a very polite lady who insists on repeating everything you’ve just told her in a slow monotone. You really want to tell her to bugger off but that’s more than your jobs worth so instead you try the old ‘fobbing off’ routine. Lie to her. Anything. Just get of the god damn phone so I can leave this shitty office for a few hours. It doesn’t take much to get stressed does it? I know I’m not 135
alone in my frustration of work. I’m probably quite well off compared to some but please bring me someone who says ‘I enjoy my job’ and actually, really, truly, deep down, means it. Infact, don’t bring me them at all because I imagine they’d be far from a barrel of laughs.
Art. I love art. I’m so bad at it I think it adds to my appreciation of it. I sometimes prefer an artists view of something than the actual view itself. Is that wrong?