Today started kicking my butt as soon as I arrived in the office this morning. It then kept kicking my butt throughout the day. I’m still standing though, which either says something about the strength of my butt, my pain threshold, or my general level of stupidity. I’m not entirely sure which.
The day is over now though. I can finally relax into the evening without keeping half an eye on the next fireball to come rolling towards the portcullis. I’m sitting in the dark of the junk room, listening to a Sibelius play-list on Spotify, and resisting the temptation to read Trump’s predictable hissy-fit about being made fun of at the Grammys last night.
I’m not a very political person, but I do enjoy a good bun-fight – as long as I’m not involved. I don’t think anybody from Great Britain can point the finger at anybody at the moment anyway – seeing as our own government couldn’t govern it’s way out of a paper bag without half of it resigning, and the rest kicking each other’s feet out from under themselves.
I just try to get on with my own life – make it from one day to the next, and not do too much harm along the way. I no longer have a “professional” homepage on the internet, I’ve almost left Twitter, I rarely set foot in Facebook, I’ve shut my Instagram account for the moment, and emptied Tumblr. Since Christmas you might say I have been on a social internet tour of destruction.
Whatever you do, don’t give me a box of matches – I don’t know what I might burn down next.
(I’m joking, before you react angrily)