Tuesday, November 09, 2004

A rather novel thing happened yesterday. I became a 'disciplined' writer. I set aside two hours in which to write and did just that. The result was a new scene for the play. This might not strike you as amazing. But it is. The last thing I ever feel like doing when I get home from a day of sitting in front of a computer is to sit in front of a computer. But needs must, if I'm ever to break away from sitting in front of a computer to be able to sit in front of a computer doing what I want to do.

I got a crazy letter through the front door. It was from work. "Oh," I thought, "At last. The sack." But no, it praised me for my commitment to the cause and informed me that, because I had had no days of sick in the last 12 months, I would get an extra day's holiday. I can't help thinking "eh?" and smirking because 1) I've just got back to the desk after two days of slobbing around ill 2) I had an argument with the boss about introducing schemes that encourage people to come to work when they're ill, such as giving them an extra day's holiday and 3) it's just wrong, because I have been off sick during the last 12 months. Oh, and 4) I have absolutely zero commitment to this job. So, if you're reading, boss man, have your fucking day back, I'd rather pull a sicky when it suits me. But what should we expect when we're led by a management that thinks abseiling down a building for Children In Need will lift team morale (it will, providing we can tamper with the equipment before they leg it over the side)? Who cares that the company will DOUBLE THE MONEY in capital letters up to £1,000? I don't GIVE A SHIT. And you will be claiming a tax break for said donation, I imagine, thus making your efforts a minimal gesture. Unless you die. In which case I'll happily chuck in a quid.

Reading: Coin Locker Babies - Ryu Murakami (see what you got me into, Mike?)

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