House Of Random

Monday, October 25, 2004


I can't wait...

...I can't for the weekend to begin...

Michael Gray, composer of the infectious and fantastic house record "Weekend" is responsible for my mood this morning. I was woken by the rythmic pulse of a bassline wobblier than the super-size matron of the local McDonalds. Have you ever noticed there is always a huge stern woman ready to serve you the secrets of her government health warning figure at every fast food joint?

I *love* that funky fruity bouncey housey tune. But it's Monday. Morning. The weekend is days away. And to be honest I can still feel the weekend that finished some short hours ago repeating on me now. So far this morning I've rolled out of bed and stepped in last night's pizza box (really, I must buy some food I can cook); I recoiled in horror at the pepporoni nestling between my toes only to hop onto my mobile phone, which leapt out from under my heel and hid under the bed in fear.

Lifting the bed requires some skill at 7.30am, especially when the notoriously morning-phobic girlfriend is slumbering atop it. And isn't amazing how girls can still get mad at you and make you feel useless whilst being completely asleep? They have this look on their faces that speaks to you very simply: "wake me and die".

Once out of the house, post the cereal/off milk incident and the realisation that what I thought was sesame-bread was simply white bread infested with nuggets of mould, I ran to meet my ride to work. My new shoes cut into my ankles, a car offered me a free coating of puddle and I forgot my work pass. I took the chance and ran back to get it, leaving my bag with my ride-partner, sprinted and arrived at my door. Wondering if I checked all my pockets for a 5th time that some miracle would teleport my keys from my bag to my hands, I prodded the doorbell until the gloriously seething face of my damp girlfriend arrived to let me in. Her shower cut short, I feel that I shall face the consequences of my actions later this evening. I know she's not actually here with me right now, but her silence is, and it's cutting.

So now I'm at work. My hangover still persists, the work I slacked off on Friday so I could get away early is here and the overdue warnings are now blinking every 20 minutes (I might just close Outlook and hope they go away). I feel rough as burnt steak, my bowels are still dancing to that wobbly bassline, and you know what?

I can't wait for the weekend to begin.

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Words, thoughts, dreams & ideas, dirtySi, London, UK, from the year 2005 onward