I’ve just staggered home. Staggered. I’ve been at work for 15 hours. A fucking marathon, you say? I’m too exhausted to agree. Who ever said that coming back to real life from my rocknroll week would be an easy transition? God, I need to stop being so naïve.
Plan was to go in, have a quick and efficient sesh, and be home by 3pm. Piece of piss. Then they ask me if I want to do a double. Nobody says no to a double. Especially if you’re considering the eventual financial reward, which you obviously are. And especially if you ignore the fact that you slept like, nada, last night. As you do.
Got a feeling something was off when I impulsively bought a 1.5L bottle of Coke. For my self. To finish at work.
I suddenly hate music. Had to switch off the radio at work. Even Adele needed to be shut up.
I came home and started tidying the laundry room. I then obviously put washing on, too. Somebody, help.
As instincts are shutting down, I just tried to take a bite of my own finger. I bummed on the sandwich…
Raisins have also suddenly become very tasty.
I’ve proofed this post three times to check for typos, when there’s an automatic spell checker on here.