I mentioned in my last post how I was starting a new morning regimen.
Up early to walk the dog (but now I have changed it to every morning regardless of doggy walking duties (or dooties (see what I did there! See how much more cleverer I am when I get up at 5?)), write, read, do something constructive (no video games, no BBC news until 7.30 at the earliest, no loud music or belly dancing- unless the new Shakira/Beyonce video comes on then all bets are off), and generally start my day with a smile and a positive attitude.
And ya know what? It’s kinda working. I feel pretty good when I get to work but it’s offset by the uncontrollable urge to kill when 4.30 rolls around and I still have an hour until quitting time. (I don’t know why this is. It just happens.)
‘Finally,’ I cogitated to myself (because it’s so hard to get other people to hear my thoughts. Why can’t I cogitate to other people? It’s so lonely here in my head! ), ‘things seems to be turning around and getting better!’
But then Friday hit and my cohort in copy writing crime got a big time deal down in Dublin and quit the agency which leaves me all by my lonesome doing the work of 2 which is what lead to my near metal collapse in the first place. It was enough to suck the tears back into my soul.
Something must be done!
Anyway, that’s where things stand at the moment. I’ve got my fighting face on and I’m armed with many more bad analogies (see ‘suck the tears back into my soul’), and I’ve got a good nine hours or so before I start getting feisty.
Bring it on bia-yach!