|Scott Adams Tells the Truth
||[Feb. 16th, 2004|05:28 am]
Tired. No, not tired: exhausted, done in, spent.
Always good to have confidence one's workplace is well-organized.
Last week, my supervisor asked if I'd mind switching shifts this week - working the overnight instead of my usual 6:30 - 3:00 in the afternoon. Thinking of the overtime pay and the night-time bonus, I agreed.
So. Sunday, I worked my normal shift. Stopped in for a pint afterwards at a place across from the AGO and just up the street from the addition to the OCAD (now that flying box-on-stilts is a cool piece of architecture! At least to look at from the outside.)
But I digress, and there is some sort of point to this entry.
I managed about 2 hours of sleep before staggering awake at 11:15 Sunday night. Zapped some left-overs and hied myself to the streetcar (having left my bicycle locked across from the cop-shop).
And guess what? Dara isn't on holiday yet. In fact, he's here. And I'm here. And Javid is here.
Which begs the eternal question: Why am I here? Only Management knows for sure ...
(Apologies for my execrable prose; simply maintaining consciousness is proving to be a chore.)
2 and a half more hours and I can go home ...