Alone in the office now.
It’s a public holiday.
It’s almost 8 o’clock.
It’s not that I don’t have tomorrow to do it; it’s just that I’d rather not heap the sorrows of today onto the evils of tomorrow.
I may have entertained myself with the thought of some murderous sort of person creeping up behind me and embedding an axe in the back of my head, spilling my blood and brains across the proofs I am now sighing over. This is why I prefer pencil to red ink these days.
That painful period of constipatory inertia when you’re perched on the precipice of a kilotonne of work but have to sit down and plot your way through it — I’m there.
A sad moment: when you realise people aren’t as [adjective] as you thought they were. I have to move from disillusionment to acceptance.