I wish for all of you to stand up and bear that stiff, sudden moment, on the fresh demise of my two day off. The days have gone in waking up late, drinking wine, eating red meat and reading. Besides attempting to catch up with parents and worrying who my shift super will be on Saturday morning (for me it'll be a Monday) -- and the gentleman who makes the roster would consider giving me an off a year or so later. Oh what a rut. I hope you're all here for the condolences.
It's such a pity I have nothing to write here, but the love I have for my work. And what more -- I don't know what would be a way out. Folks are suggesting to apply now and shift to the western continents. But what the rut has managed to do is to bring my self-confidence to an all time low.
My days are pleasantly bleak and I have nothing really to look forward for. Sleep has become my pinnacle of recreational activity -- which too is harbouring on a disorder.
I'm grumpy and incapable of humouring anyone. But if you listen to The Clash's I Fought The Law three times over, like I did, you may be granted relief.