Something’s happened to me. This last week, I have never been more exhausted in my life. Barring the time of course, while backpacking round Europe and not sleeping for an entire week in Greece, but that’s another story altogether.
I think 2006 has finally caught up with me. Year of big highs and big lows, juiced together with exorbitant amounts of alcohol. I have binge burnout. And now I am so tired, I could fall asleep in someone’s vomit and wouldn’t notice. In fact, being awake would be more uncomfortable right now. Chose bed over a night out with mates last night.
C has a new car, which I have affectionately named La Bagnol de la Poenette. La Poenette for short. It is a Peugeot, so one must remember its French ancestry. And since the owner is a Poen, well, it’s only natural to call it The Wheels of The Poen Lady. N’est ce pas?
E and her boyfriend bought a house in Melville. Congrats guys! And bless your little cotton underrods.
Work continues to become a serious thorn in my side. Due to other private projects I have going at the moment, which I am throwing quite a bit of my energy into, and due to severe exhaustion, work has become for me the ultimate nightmare. But due to these projects, it’s not in my best interests to job search just yet. Next year definitely. I am procrastinating, not enjoying anything, anything I write about, and am not enjoying my boss even more.
As the movie protagonist in Office Space declares: Every day is the worst day of my life here. Which means every day is worse than the one before.
Chad is growing into a big boy. And becoming tamer. The little dude closes his eyes when I stroke his head. That’s love right? The man loves me. Oh yes he does. He’s my boytjie-boychie-boykes.
How is it that I have no fresh doondies in my Nice Doondie Drawer? My nice doondies are either a) missing, or b) at the bottom of my laundry bag. God knows it’s been ages since I’ve used my favourite underwear. I have three Doondie Drawers. Beautiful, expensive underwear; normal underwear; and Woolies 3-colour pack underwear. Fuck.
Bureaucracy. Besides everything electronic in my immediate proximity going kapoot, my admin is fast building up. I’m too broken at the moment to fix this [necessary] electronic stuff, nevermind go and collect my latest car license disc in town, figure out what ever happened to my tax returns that SARS appears to have misplaced like they do Every. Fucking. Year (Does my name read Miss Please O’LoseThis or something? For FUCK’S sake), and pay a speeding fine, and get a vitamin B12 injection on top of work, work, work.
I’m not coping. It’s come to the point where I am seriously considering hiring someone to do this all for me. It may cost me thousands of ront, but perhaps I’ll live to sleep another day. I’m really just too fucking tired.
And now I’m going to Natal. Maybe I won’t remember any of it because I’ll be in a coma the whole weekend. Good times? Someone may have to tell me.
PS: I will be drinking myself retarded in the car. Whether Moogs and R like it or not.