45 minutes to go. Till freedom – freedom from my day job.
I am feeling quite sad actually – because this is all I know – getting dressed in the morning, curling my eyelashes, trying to work out what to wear. Last minute ironing. Feed my poor dog who looks totally heartbroken every morning when we leave for work. Rush through peak hour traffic, then stagger into work in complete disarray and with mad hair.
Then a FULL day of waiting for the clock to tick away. Sometimes the excitement gets a bit too much for me because I have to wait for a blood test result or beta result. Those days are the absolute worst.
Dickwit just came by and made an attempt to look at the subject of this email (I am posting using work email) whilst pretending to ask me a question. I coolly waved him off. This is not the right time to ask me about a number I made up three months ago for some random calculation based on assumptions. Spare me the drama please.
42 minutes to go.