Sunday

Oh, look at that, it is nearly Monday again and I didn't win lotto.

And look at that, the weekend is nearly over and I still haven't written that best selling novel. What is wrong with me? How did I forget to do that? Brilliance is up for debate, or is that on the fritz?

Oh, look at that, Monday morning is just moments away, knocking on Sunday night's door, and work awaits. I can plug back into being a cog, like a rat running on a wheel. We're all little rats running on our wheels.

But you know what, despite everything I say, it's lucky that I don't really mind my job, especially working from home. Yeah, working from home. I know I've said that before.

In fact, when I finished work on Wednesday last, there were a couple of looming potential shit shows, so it will be interesting to see if Boris got blindsided by those in the ensuing days. Let's hope not. Hope not, I say? Well, do I really care? Nyr? She out ranks me, so go for it. I'll just mop it up, again, as I do.

Sam's rental is finally done, after a couple of days pulling it together finally, now its time to call in the lying bastard, er, realestate agents to get the tenant selection started and to see how many of their promises fall apart quickly, er, quickly they can fulfil the promises they made to get Sam to give them the job.

We discovered the local recycle centre and we took a car load of old paint tins and dropped them off. We'll take the rest of the rubbish there this week. And then we're done.

I thought the recycle centre would cost, but it doesn't, so, I guess I'll have to say something nice about the council, that was it, and I am going to load up the car with lots of shit and clean up this place too.

Time to put my feet up, or at least I would if Bruno wasn't taking up the other half of the couch. But I've got my half, really a quarter, so I'll take my something from nothing and just relax and enjoy what is left of Sunday.