The following is a live stream of my thoughts in an attempt to document the torture that can be the last hour of the work day. Time tends to get inversely slow as the day progresses, and much like water heating to boil, tends to stall even further with each glance at the clock. This post is better than ingesting an irresponsible dose of caffeine.
I just found some gum in the back of my desk, which feels like manna from heaven. I’m hoping it keeps me awake for the next 61 minutes, and is a nice distraction from the utter exhaustion I’m feeling today. I’ve spent a lot of time today pondering the history of shampoo, namely the logistics of using shampoo before the invent of the plastic bottle. My brief research has led me to conclude that chemists and Farrah Fawcett conspired to make it a daily necessity.
Paranoia sets in. Someone is on to me, I know it!
Paranoia has passed. I think…
The decision to eat comfort food for dinner is feeling more and more right. It’s rare that I throw caution to the wind in this way, but my entire body aches. When I have not been pondering shampoo, I have been envisioning myself suspended in a gentle whirlpool of perfectly warm water. The pending reality of my bike commute home is starting to loom large. While I’m becoming more and more wary of the future of transportation where technology is concerned, I think I’d be okay with an optional pulley system alongside the bike lane. In its absence, I’m forced to expend my remaining mental energy calculating the route with the greatest elevation loss.
I’m hungry. That dancing taco is doing me in.
Someone just talked to me ad nauseam about a friend who was “one of those guys who’s really nice, but just never stops talking.” I refrained from pointing out the common thread of that relationship.
I’m calling it a day. Wee!
P.S. No proofreading was involved in this post.
Photo credit: Pipe Loyola M