It isn't fair that just when one is really getting used to the holidays, no longer wanting to go back to work, one is cruelly forced back into the office.
"One" being me.
So now it's back to the world of faxes, laptops, meetings, reviews...the only thing that's changed is my new desk calendar, which seems to have even lamer quotes than the one from last year, if that's possible. I'm not feeling too bad right now, but you watch; give it, ooh, three days, and I will be again seized with the urge to toss the photocopier out the window into the traffic (it's a good thing that that damn machine is so heavy).
But at least I'll be posting regularly again. So you can all stop thinking for yourselves now, because I'm here. Actually, I'm rapidly approaching both the second anniversary of my blog, and my 400th post. So if I post nearly everyday, I should be able to hit both milestones on the same day. (I just realised how out of practice I am with typing - I keep hitting caps lock, or the wrong letters).
My main hope at work this year, is that people will start to take me a bit more seriously. At a meeting late last year, I voiced a (very good) suggestion to streamline the Quality Assurance process, and one of the older women in the office said, "Good girl!". I tell you, it only happens because of my life situation. There's a guy at work who's only months older than I am, but he's married with two small children. No one refers to him as "boy". Anyway, we're getting an office junior soon, so the problem should ease. I'm looking forward to it - I'm sick of having to fetch my own beverages.
It's in marked contrast to the way I feel when I go out at night (which lately is a rare occurance) - I feel like I'm about ready for a hip replacement. When I was at GAF in Sydney for New Years, I couldn't believe how young some of the punters looked - I wondered, "Do their babysitters realise that they got out?" I particularly wondered about one kid in a NIN shirt, who looked about 15. He continuously circuited the club looking mopey. I never saw him dance, or talk to anyone, or even get a drink (his mother probably told him he wasn't allowed) - just do laps of the room with a mopey facial expression. Maybe that's what they mean by being emo?
Anyway, if you want to torture anyone over the age of about 24, just point out to them that in two weeks, there'll be kids legally allowed in the clubs who weren't even born until after the Bicentennial. Say this, and watch the horrified look on their face.
On the other hand, please don't torture my generation. We're old and we don't deserve it.
Surfing through some other blogs, I found this hilarious post...how many times have you heard the expression "today is the first day of the rest of your life"? Read this...you'll never look at it the same way again.