I felt spritely this morning. Just thought i’d say that, because I do and I think the word, ‘Spritely’ is massively underused. 

We made the whole office cocktails last Thursday. Sam was on top form. Then we played darts with our left hand only as Daz was leaving and he broke his hand. Everyone stayed at work til midnight. I have no idea how we passed the hours away, all I know is that the coffee machine and vodka supply was drained.
This morning I woke up because I dreamt someone was stabbing me. That was sad.
Gina bought me a teacake for breakfast on Friday. I put peanut butter and apple on it. If you’re ever feeling wild and really really adventurous, then you should try it. Because it’s good.
Gina and I are coming up with a way to send out a christmas message from the agency. We’ve come up with a few ideas, but we’re pitching them later to see how incredible our minds our/ go back to square one.
Currently thought processes? Aghhh there are too many. Feeling like a robot at the moment. Trouble is, robots aren’t very creative. I also have a new plan. I’m going to get with Jude Law. I don’t know if this is a new plan or just a refreshing take on a old epiphany/ total disillusion, but it’s going to happen. He’s just great and like I’ve said before I’m the Tesco meal deal version of the Savoy. Sienna Miller is the Savoy. Tesco meal deal is the metaphor for my good self and a direct example taken straight from my current diet* plan** (*diet means stuff I eat, **plan means no plan at all someone help  #likeaboss) Jude used to be with her. My point is i’m blonde.
I’m in Starbucks by myself and everyone’s on dates. I hate you all. I’m drinking one  of those eggnog lattes. I pretty sure it’s just single cream disguised with a bit of egg. Either way I’m happy. Anyway drinking cream just for shits and giggles isn’t so bad. ‘Sometimes, I just drink cream.’ (Pointer, Hazel, 2012)
Work’s going really great. Everyone is really nice. I’m only saying this because they all now read my blog. JOKING I LOVE YOU ALL. Seriously, you’re bloody fantastic. Even the real life human calculators that sit near the coffee. We now especially love Jo (of the Smith variety, the Booth ones are also good but I just can’t rock auburn hair and it makes me sad/ jealous.) Anyway, Jo Smith is a wonderful woman. She’s become G and I’s new role model. Gold stars for you Jo.
I might go to Budapest for New Year, this is a very exciting thought for me, or considering my current financial status, drink Sherry in Norfolk and eat dry Turkey sandwiches. I’m not too bothered cos both options are really.. no I can’t even fathom it. Someone give me some money. 
Current thoughts? I need a hobby. I maybe knitting. I’ve started flossing (fun). The dude opposite me shouldn’t wear grey, because his skin is grey and therefor looks a bit like a recycling bin.
I’m talking to Gembob on Facebook. Makes me happy to know she’s a least a few miles closer (in Budapest) (She’s Australian) (Still can’t actually hang out/ touch your face but I could if I wanted to/ pay lots of money for an hour or so of face touching) (No Gembob I shan’t  do it, face touching is not worth £80 (probably is I miss you)).
I have a numb arse from writing this. I think I might have a rat in my room. I don’t want to get on the tube. The only satisfaction to be gleaned from excessive tubing is making minimal eye contact with everyone, whilst at all times judging them and making assumptions about their life. It’s fun when you’re sad. If I write or read, I pretend everyone’s watching me like, ‘Wow, look at that girl. So young and talented, just reading and writing and being really at one with words. She looks like a poet. She probably thinks about the world and then gives what little money she has, back to charity…’ Well, I don’t. I spend it on Eggnog lattes then bitch about life in the corner. Also, they’re more likely thinking, ‘She could do with a hairbrush- crap I needed to go to High Barnet, not Edgeware.’
I want to write more so i’m going to start writing a story. Each part will be on my blog, so you gotta follow the story line.
Adam never wanted a cat. The trouble was, after his father died, his Mother couldn’t be left alone for long periods of time by herself, so a cat was a good option. Dogs needed more looking after. Cats were loyal, independent, and the gypsies on the corner were selling them cheap. Plus, a job at the off license didn’t really give Adam the budget for a dog. 
Adam’s dad was big. Not fat, but just large. Like a heavy bottomed bear. He would move around the house quietly, with no real interest in long conversations. Not that he was unsociable, it was he just wasn’t the type to strike up a conversation. Mr. Totable was what one might call ‘grey’. Yes, Grey was a good word to describe him. Adam hadn’t inherited his fathers grey-ness. Adam was broad and tall like Mr. Totable, but with dark colouring. He didn’t look much like his Mother either, ‘so goodness knows where you get it from’, She’d warble, half heartedly, with a watery stare…
OH CAN YOU FEEL THE SUSPENSE? WHO IS ADAM? WHY IS HIS DAD DEAD? AND WHY DOES HIS MUM WARBLE? WHAT DOES WARBLE EVEN MEAN? NO ONE KNOWS, NOT EVEN ME, COS I ONLY JUST DECIDED TO WRITE THIS STORY. 
Also PS Hiya, I have managed to collect a variety of images of me looking sad with hot beverages. Did someone say niché clipart? Nope, nobody did cos no one is talking to me right now, especially not about potentially dry business plans in the clip art sector. Oh wait, Gina is talking to me. Actually no she’s talking to herself she said, ‘Oh… will you just…’. Truer words have never been uttered dear Goon. 
Ring the bell. 
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