and then some

It's been, 5 days since I've posted here... and that's all I know of that song and therefore that's all I can change. Anyway, my point was clear, until I lost it in rewording lyrics; and that was that I've been working for the last 5 days, at unholy hours and with very little sleep. And I did it without a drop of coffee. Ok, fine, I did have some ICE BREAK.

Let me tell you what work is like at 6 o'clock in the moring: It downright sucks the Almighty Big One. I mean, you're half-awake (because you're optimistic, as opposed to half-asleep...) and you have to walk straight into a coolroom, which isn't too bad, ignoring the fact that you have the natural urge to lay down and hibernate for a few more glorious hours. Or days. Now, just as you're settling in, with your eyes and brain protesting angrily, it comes time to walk to the other end of the store to drag some sorry-arse pallets - they way at least a tonne each - back to your section. Now your whole body is protesting; a mutiny is on the horizon, surely. But, alas, you don't collapse in a fatigued heap, because you're young and full of far too much energy. There goes that excuse.

Of course, as time goes by, the day gets slightly better. There's an actual formula for this, but I dare not reveal it. Lest someone forget to carry a 1... but, I digress. Alright, alright; part of this formula does involve how many, uh, nice-looking woman you see (and I don't care if you're female, it works). Fine, it's exponential. Another key part is how many hours you have left, right up to the last hour, which seems to take forever, even though it's always 60 minutes - no matter which way you look at it (sideways included).

So that's the beginning and end, now I guess you want the juicy middle parts, where the hours appear to jump all over the place like a car in heavy bushland getting chased by big things. Big, hairy, growling things. If it's a good day, it goes quickly and before you know it, you're almost finished. If not, you better get some coffee and a good person to complain with. Or both.

Sounds like hell, doesn't it? Well it's work, and nobody enjoys it. Even pornstars can't say they enjoy their job after some time... But you know who can say that they do? Professional Dole bludgers. Those guys live the life, albeit in a run-down household and a miserable one. I'm glad to have successfully achieved my Doctorate in Leisure and look forward to --

Um, what was I talking about again? That's right; Dolphins! No wait, it was my week at work, or WaW (pronounced "Wore") as I like to call it. I think I'll summarise now. It was full of late nights, early starts and twitching eyes. By Sunday, I was hyper-active and by Monday I was in my bed, asleep; only to wake up and stay up until the most Godless hour of 5am. I wasn't seen again until 2:2opm AEST.

The weekend wasn't too bad. It had some interesting news and some interesting poker-playing and even poodles. Enough said. This weekend should be even more weekendary (is someone writing these new words down for me?) with my devious plans. Yes, I intend to drink a littlot.