A Friday in the office is tough for even the chirpiest of workers.
You wish you hadn't sold your soul to the man and actually did become a professional St. Bridget's cross maker, spending your time between Burning Man and Connemara.
One can but dream, but while you're daydreaming today, remember that you're not alone. We're all in this dimly-lit room together...
Oh my God almighty I'm so bloody TIRE–, wait, it's Friday!
Only 8-10 hours until total, unadulterated freedom!
Ugh, a full day of bleakness, surrounded by fellow chumps.
I CAN deal with this. HAND ME MY DEALING SHIRT.
Arriving into work to everyone sneezing, nursing hangovers and generally being foul.
"... CAN I do this?"
And we have arrived at the first slump of the day: 11am.
Pints are near! I can feel them! They're calling me!
Fuck, I've a lot of work to do. Will I get it in on time? Will I have to stay late? Will the pub wait?
ONCE YOU REPLY TO ONE EMAIL, FOUR MORE COME IN. WHO ARE THESE IGNORAMUSES?
WHAT DO THEY THINK I AM?
A SUPER BROKER?!
You know they've already finished their work day in Australia. Isn't that funny?
Haha.
Hahahahaha.
Must remove myself from this situation. Gotta get this shit DONE.
*sticks in earphones to listen to 'Maniac 2000' and starts typing furiously*
You have graciously accepted defeat.
Someone stick a fork in you, you're done.
Screw the haters, I am invincible! Hand me MORE work!
(please no)
Do you really need that drink? Maybe you should take the evening off, and finish up this work tomorrow after you've gotten a good night's sleep and perhaps even a juice cleanse?
Fuck that.
I can see the light of day! She's calling me!
FREEDOM! Let us burn our work shoes and slash the tyres of our vehicles!
Or just eat three burgers and gently soak up our small victory like a sponge. Whatever.
