I started out fighting the good fight. But my day has started going distinctly sideways on me. I can tell because I’ve given up on work and am listening to Nine Inch Nails (at volume) on my headphones. The self destructive, depressed, Courtney Love banging, drugged up Trent Reznor. Not the much more together and totally less rage filled (and some might argue less edgy) individual of we have today. Further down the spiral.
My excuse (currently*) is that we’ve run out Arabica, so I’m drinking instant. It was either that or drink toilet water. Well, my dogs would probably prefer toilet water (now that I think about it), but their palates are unrefined and they likely fall somewhere just above philistines on the chart de gastronome.
*I tend to cycle through excuses as to why things have gotten so BAD. A lot like the rest of humanity, only my excuses are real.
Oh. Its take your German Shepherd to work day. Maybe I should have led with that. Not a real day. But since I’m the boss I can arbitrarily make up stuff (which as far as I can tell, is basically the main requirement of someone in a management/leadership position)
I needed to take break from the one hundred and sixty four unread emails and the dangerously stacked monuments of paperwork on my desk that are beginning to lean precariously to one side. One ill considered move could spell disaster. Although I suppose it could also spell something else, depending on how they fall.
I’ve been awake since about 2am this morning, wrenched from REM sleep by a Basset Hound who wanted to go pee (in the rain). A quick resolution to the bladder crisis didn’t seem to be on the cards and by the time he did feel the need to lackadaisically wander back, he was of course soaked (much to his surprise I imagine). By this stage I’d irradiated my shadow into the bedroom wall with blue light waiting for him to complete whatever predawn shenanigans basset hounds get up to snuffling around in the undergrowth. Of course then he wouldn’t settle until I’d dried him and re-furled him into his blanket. After that sleep (for me) was largely a parody.
The German has hurt her shoulder chasing Hadedas. Which… are… eh… um… I suppose I need to explain this non South Africans…… Imagine Dantes inferno. Now zoom to the seventh layer of hell. Hadedas are basically the avian equivalent of whatever dwells there. Devil birds. Anyways, I took her for physiotherapy that she might recover quicker and continue her sacred duty of delivering my garden from this blight/scourge. (I couldn’t decide which noun I preferred since they are both relatively apt). She takes her job quite seriously and tends to over commit to the charge, hence the injury.