Stayed up late last night - sleep as elusive as the Scarlet Pimpernel. As sometimes happens to me, I paced my lounge up and down, nervously contemplating the next day at work.
I am really growing to hate my job with a passion that few can muster.
Eventually I crawl into bed and slow slip off into dream land. The usual suspects drift like mist inside my sleeping world - freedom, escape, loads of cash and no desk job. But before you know it, the alarm rings, its half past five and time to wash, dry and pour myself into my clothes, stuff my mouth with toast/flakes/tea/whatever and drag my semi conscious body behind the wheel of my C3 and point it in the direction of Swansea and the mountain of paper-work/figures/shit that no doubt awaits.
I'm spending the next two weeks putting a training regime together for my colleagues and I don't give a fuck. The day drags on and eventually its time to leave and its at this point that I briefly feel alive - a pause in my zombie like working trance.
Clunk-click and I'm strapped into my commuter-mobile and pointing away from Swansea and back home. Pancakes for tea and out again, children in tow to the local hall where they teach gymnastics. The children make shapes with their arms and legs for an hour whilst I look for the meaning of life in the nearby library.
Haven't found it yet, but I did find a book about DNA - seriously.
I return to the hall and children are bending like reeds in the breeze. Soon we are home again. A bed they go and the day peters out. I am numb with fatigue but the worry about tomorrow is soon revisited.
I seek salvation.
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