We're overrated, anyway
I sleep too much.
And all of my furniture has been pushed to the center of the room. My room is an island. Surrounded by a mote. Of carpet. And blue tape. And no, I'm not being poetic. It's just strange. Because we're painting my room tomorrow. Some form of accomplishment.
I can't seem to figure out what exactly my boss wants me to do. He sits there and talks about having a work plan and goes on and on..about nothing in particular, like he's trying to make a point and never makes it. An hour goes by, and he stops talking and smiles at me and is like Okay, we're done you can go now. And I walk out of there clueless. And feeling silly for only coming to the office for a damn hour. I packed a lunch. What happened to regular hours? what am I supposed to be doing? I don't get it.
It's cold and wet outside, I don't like it. I have to wear socks just to walk around the house. I hate socks, but I hate cold feet more.
I think I'm going to make some tea and go back to bed, in my scrunched up little room. Maybe I'll keep it this way. I don't even have to sit at a chair to type on my laptop on the desk, I just crawl over on the bed. More convenient, no?
And all of my furniture has been pushed to the center of the room. My room is an island. Surrounded by a mote. Of carpet. And blue tape. And no, I'm not being poetic. It's just strange. Because we're painting my room tomorrow. Some form of accomplishment.
I can't seem to figure out what exactly my boss wants me to do. He sits there and talks about having a work plan and goes on and on..about nothing in particular, like he's trying to make a point and never makes it. An hour goes by, and he stops talking and smiles at me and is like Okay, we're done you can go now. And I walk out of there clueless. And feeling silly for only coming to the office for a damn hour. I packed a lunch. What happened to regular hours? what am I supposed to be doing? I don't get it.
It's cold and wet outside, I don't like it. I have to wear socks just to walk around the house. I hate socks, but I hate cold feet more.
I think I'm going to make some tea and go back to bed, in my scrunched up little room. Maybe I'll keep it this way. I don't even have to sit at a chair to type on my laptop on the desk, I just crawl over on the bed. More convenient, no?