Tell Me Why...

i don't like mondays

tell me why

i don't like mondays

i want to shoot

the whole day down, down, down

shoot it all down

heeyeea

Monday morning. Again. And I want to throw myself from the roof onto the cars below. Is this the way one should feel on entering their place of employment of a Monday morning? Hmmm, career change anyone?

Although, that said, I don't hate the job with all my heart, I have just come to realise that this is not the life for me. It's dull and not inductive to creative thinking. The closest I get to art is a chance to doodle on my notepad in meetings. And culture? Reading about Tomatie's Scientology capers on Conversations about Famous People. There has got to be more to life than this!

Yesterday, I touched upon these last months being the worst ever - now I'm not one for negativity (because it gets you nowhere) but they really have sucked serious ass. Do you ever get days when you think you're finally going to crack because you can't take any more stress? I thought I had lost the fight there for a moment or two, but am pleased to report that I didn't lose it. Just shrugged my sturdy shoulders and carried on - and I think we're just getting to the end of the tunnel. Thank god, 'cos these worry lines are doing nothing for me...

Brent has pulled his socks up considerably since our 'little talk' and I respect him for it, so things are ok there at the moment. That fake laugh has to go though. And the camp screeching. Honestly, it's like the spirit of Kenneth Williams got into the room. You know you're dealing with a potential closet case when he whips out a picture of himself at a 'Sing-along-a-Sound-of-Music' night wearing brown suede lederhosen. (You just happened to have this picture handy? Or were you on your way to some phone boxes down Brighton way, hmmm?)

This weekend was nice and chilled. I intended to be unsociable and not speak to anyone but Rocker this weekend, not get dressed and not brush my hair. Well, The Spiders came to stay on Friday night which was nice but meant I had to conversationalise (or a loose version of it) and wear clothing. I didn't brush my hair though (mwahahahahahahahaha!).

We just ate good food, drank good wine (well, I drank Buck's Fizz) and watched good movies (well, House of Wax). It's got so cold that the only option for a girl like me is duvet and pillows and a camp on the sitting room floor. There is no way on God's green earth you are going to get me to go out after dark. Except to work.

Last night I had a saucy dream about Sawyer from Lost. Nothing happened (damn you alarm clock!), but the way he looked at me was enough to disarm at a thousand paces. You know, right now, being stranded on a desert island for a while wouldn't seem too much of a bind. Credit card companies can't chase you when you're stuck on an island, can they?

My essential 'Stranded on a desert island' survival kit would include:

Mascara
Duvet
Deep conditioner
Rocker
Moisturiser
The Cat
Some books

Things that would terrify me should I be stranded on a desert island with them:

Sharks (they can walk on sand can't they?)
Komodo dragons
Centipedes
Earwigs
Mariah Carey