By Friday life has killed me

All I’m trying to do is find a song with enough noise to drown out the eating sounds of my ex-line manager and maybe get five minutes to myself without having to build a moat around my desk.

Loads of things seem to be happening all at once, but then I take stock and realise that I’m just letting it all pile up in my head. Some things have already happened and some aren’t set to take place until the future, where we’ll all wear government-issued pollution suits and say things like “Let me put that into the *CPPT generator and see what it says.” I do seem to be solidly booked until 2230, if indeed I make it that far (Aubrey de Grey says I stand a pretty good chance, so.)

Today I was welcomed into the editorial team, which means that I now have access to all the people who will make my job less of a nightmare, and that my workload is about to go from unmanageable to out-of-control. Somehow this doesn’t faze me, likely because of a delayed reaction that will probably kick in once I finally realise that I am married and living in London.

Conscious Friday wrestles subconscious Friday to the ground and clubs her over the head with an empty beer bottle, which she didn’t drink, because she doesn’t drink anymore**

It seems my job has taken the top priority spot without my consent, sitting well below Bruce but somewhere above reality television and voiding my bladder. Would that I were paid enough to turn seemingly innocuous weekend behaviour into an idea for a homepage, or dream that the heads of digital were trying to accompany me to the bathroom, but you can’t put a price tag on work-related neurosis, and I feel like they are setting me up to either succeed beyond my wildest dreams or go up in a blaze of failure.

When all I wanted was a cushy job that would give me plenty of time to surf the internet and stare out the window.

How do these things happen?

*Cryoprotaphototransmutability – it doesn’t exist yet, but feel free to run with the idea, I won’t stop you. Or maybe I already have!

**Barring last night, but I was at a Q&A for a new Mike Leigh film and it seemed appropriate somehow. I’m sure the raving alcoholic they kicked out of the theatre mid-screening can back me up on that one.***

***Bruce knows that I would never talk about myself in the third person like that.