This has been a long week. OK, officially it’s been the same length as every other week. It seemed much, much longer though. Who invented 5 day working weeks anyway? I would love to track whoever it was down and shoot him! (It has to have been a him, surely no woman would have come up with anything so insane?)
So yesterday was Friday. The end of the week. A night for meeting up with friends, having a few drinks and planning the weekend ahead. At least I seem to remember that’s what Friday evenings were meant to be like. I wouldn’t know. Last night, having tidied the living room (an event that practically deserves a blog post of its very own. Or a fanfare at least) I was in bed by 10:45. Not even in bed reading either – although that was what I had intended to do. I picked up some new books from my local bookcrossing zone last weekend and I was looking forward to getting started on Two Caravans. But I was too exhausted to even write a blog(!!) so it was straight out with the lights. I think I need a holiday. As in some actual time off work, not just a weekend away. Paris was nice but it wasn’t particularly relaxing.
God, it’s 25 past 10. Where does the time go? And I have so much to do this morning. Wash dishes (which have been sitting there since Tuesday!), finally post the present for my friend’s baby who was born 3 weeks ago! Make cakes for Fest at my old student residence this afternoon (will explain that later when I have more time), take out the rubbish which is staring at my accusingly even as I type. Washing – handwashing no less, for I have no washing machine and the boyfriend is in bloody America. Aaargh, so much to do! See, this is why 5 day weeks are a bloody crap idea!