Why do weekends end so quickly? Seriously, I feel there is something suspicious afoot. No matter what I’m doing, or how much fun I’m having, Saturday and Sunday seem to only be half as long as every other day (and that is combined!). Somebody look into it. There must be a conspiracy lurking under the surface. There always is, according to several people I know (I have met some interesting people in my life thus far…). Usually I disagree with them on such matters, but weekends being shorter because of some shady government agency wanting us to work more, play less? I’m willing to believe it.
Anyway, despite the fact it was over in a few hours, or at least seemed to be (I’m onto you, Cameron), I did have a good weekend. I sorted my room out a little bit, got stuff ready for work and played Halo 4, which as I said Saturday, is fantastic.
Sure, I didn’t write (I feel working full-time stops me during the week because I’m physically exhausted, while on the weekend I just want to relax and do nothing) or get my hair cut, but overall it was a good few days.
Today wasn’t too bad for a Monday either. It didn’t drag on too much, which was something I suppose. I ended up blitzing through the work I had left over from last week, which I was expecting to take me until Wednesday. The reason for this increased productivity was a simple one, as today I finally did something I’ve wanted to do since I started but only dared try this afternoon: I listened to my music.
‘What?’ you are probably not saying because you don’t care, ‘how does that work?’
Well, it is incredibly lonely work that I’m doing at the moment. Yes, there are other people flitting around, but that doesn’t equate to company. I spend most of my time in silence, completely wrapped up in my own thoughts. But not good thoughts: no, inane ones, long trails of nonsense that just distract me from my job. I can’t think of creatively, so my mind just runs off onto stupid tangents. I’d give you an example, but such is their irrelevance, I can’t even remember any of them.
To sum up, filing… it sucks the life out of you.
So, to prevent the mental breakdown that was becoming frighteningly close to actually happening, I had started to sing to myself. Because, you know, mumbling to yourself is clearly the way forward in this situation. Naturally I did it all under my breath; I’m not a performer, and the thought of being caught in a mid growl/ operatic cry (boredom encourages me to test my vocal range) isn’t one I would like to become reality.
That wasn’t enough that. But what else could I do? I was under the impression I couldn’t play my music because it wouldn’t be allowed. Health and Safety wouldn’t allow it. I might miss an alarm, or fail to hear somebody cry out in pain. I would just have to go without.
Then I saw another guy with his headphones in! So, I stopped and asked him about it. Apparently it is allowed, providing you don’t have it blasting and you are still able to hear if people talk to you. Awesome. I can work with that. And I did.
Suddenly all that filing doesn’t seem so bad. Who would have thought it?
Finally, to compensate you all for the poor standard of blog posts recently (another consequence to working full-time/losing my creativity) I have a picture. Oh yes. No, it isn’t of me (sorry) but, nevertheless, I think you’ll like it. Essentially this picture shows why the phrase ‘*insert noun* is the best thing since sliced bread‘ is completely justified to use a loaf of bread that has already been segmented before purchase as the comparison for something amazing*.
Pretty grim, isn’t it? I had to cut my own bread on Sunday, and that is the result.
Oh dear. I guess I can give up on the dream of being a world renown chef then. Damn.
*I’m assuming this is a phrase you all recognize, but failing that, you should be able to grab it from the name and the picture. Sliced bread is, indeed, one of the best things ever.