"halfway through week + doing OK + no visible signs of cancer or of being sacked + ooh look at this e-mail, there's a kitten falling off a log! + soon the weekend = good".
Now Wednesdays are the days where I have to do statistics. Hundreds of them. Thousands of them. N of them, if you like.
It's like I'm bathing in them. I pour them all over me, and drink them in like coca-cola until I'm giddy and edgy and wild eyed. I take them to bed and sleep with them torridly and passionately and I pretend to understand them and to want to talk about them all night long til we fall asleep exhausted in each other's arms.
Then in the morning (this is still the metaphor) it's like I can't remember what their names are, why they are here or why I ever thought they were a good idea in the first place. And why do I have such a headache? So I kick them out of bed and proceed to forget all about them and laugh about them with all my mates.
Then I find out they're my new boss and I've got a meeting with them next Wednesday.
1 comment:
i have no idea what you're talking about, but i do like kittens.
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