In my wisdom (aka already disoriented and confused from lack of sleep), I decided to stay up all night on Sunday, to sort out my body clock by overloading it.
Just about getting to the grinding teeth stage now, veer from hot to cold alternately, and my vision flashies at the periphery. I've already emailed insults to about thirty undeserving people; my rudeness filter (unreliable and wavering at the best of times) is completely broked till I get some sleep.
For some reason, everything I eat is either protein overload (fresh burger with fried egg / mayo topping), caffeinated (espresso, instant [spit], filter, latter, coke, tea, even Maxpax) or 65% sugar, aka raspberry jam with extra pips (hey, I'm dazed, it tookone had more sugar content than the Duchy of Cornwall 62% sugar content jam).
I mangled^H^H^H^delivered three hours of training and presentations to 13 people in this sad bedraggled state - think I got away with it ... they only seemed to stare at me and shake their heads three times. Was it totally obvious my disconnected mumbling bore no relation to logic? Yet I still got offered another promotion! Weirdos. Have refused this one twice already last year.
Will refuse again, of course - would rather work on attaining sanity than cash. I can't even mumble coherently in public, and they want me to be in charge? Bloody idiots.
I'm a born underling, an idler, a grumbling malcontent. How could I bloody function if I were the Evil Boss against whom I plot, fume and betray at every chance?
Tomorrow I'm going to nick a widescreen telly. It's true! I need to find me a gullible fool, though, for the getaway. It's for Duch and I'll wager she'll pay me in foooooooooooooooood.
Disclaimer: don't bumming well blame me if this entry makes no sense. Blame time, blame jobs blame clockwatchers. You malcontent.
I'm off to bed, up with the caffeine at six!
Updated: Monday, 1 September 2003 11:42 PM BST
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