This is starting to look like the end of a messed up day. This is really the time to get off the air.
I’ve been so tired today, I didn’t do my evening stroll around town. I DID clean the apartment though, and that might just make up for the evening walk.
Work is not good for the soul, mind or body. That much I know. And more to that – because You get so tired working, it’s even harder finding another job that might suit you better, or to make that hobbyproject of yours pay.
Of course dear friend and more dearer friend, I have the solution to that. Im not only (f ***ing spacebar jammed) a melancholic human being, Im also full of advice.
To have strength to work on applications for future more intresting jobs, or intresting hobbyprojects that might pay of – do them on regular workhours. Hah, easy as that. If you feel guilty about, work a little overtime. Obviously you won’t have the same energy, but whats the most importent, you – or work?
Im most importent if you ask me. You didn’t. Im sitting here talking to myself again.
Good morning Australia! Now where the f. is the ashtray?
av Max @ 22:27:24 i Old diary | länk | Prat (0)
Strange dreams before an annoying day
Wow this is really an annoying day. It’s hot like the Sahara desert inside the office. There’s barely no one here so all you can do is to answer the phone.
I had trouble sleeping tonight because strange dreams kept waking me up. Snatch had some influense on my dreams, there were actually some gunfighting. Then I dreamt about a girl who I think is starting to act supiciously nice all of a sudden. So there was some kinda mix between violence and strange but sweet messages on the celluarphone. On top of that a woman at work left post it notes on my desk. There where nothing special about the notes, just the fact that when she wrote them, she was trying to make me think another one at work had written them.
I don’t know what the above means. It was most probarly a sort of essence of everything you’ve thought about during the day. Then when you’re at sleap, all thoughts go through the food-mixer of the mind and come out as an odd mixture not even a dog would eat.
av Max @ 09:37:07 i Old diary | länk | Prat (0)