The first working day of the new year for yours truly. It's not been that bad to be honest. I think my absence of festive sentiment this yuletide saved me. It wasn't much of a wrench to get back to it. The worst part was the alarm doing its pieces at 7.20 this morning, which felt like the middle of the night to me. Other than that, I found my trotters in no time.
It helped also that Missus O has booked loads of mini-breaks for the upcoming months. I had a list of leave to get in the diary at work when I arrived, which was a pleasure unalloyed. There's a part of one that weeps a little at divvying the year up like this; it's a bit like wishing one's life away. But, let's not delude ourselves, friends, everyone dislikes his or her job to some extent. Those who pretend they don't are joyless, friendless fcuking weirdos. For me work's a mild irritant. But in the past I've had jobs that I would happily have seen mown down by a runaway steam engine. So when the opportunity to not have to attend to my miserable duties for a day or two arises, I cling to it like a starving man to a Wagon Wheel.
I wonder if I've crossed an Xmas Rubicon? Even the removal of the decorations didn't garner a flicker of regret this year. I've grown immune, it seems. It's only taken 46 years. I do hope something takes its place in my affections though. It'll be a boring dotage otherwise. Life's just a little vanilla when you can't get ridiculously over-excited. I suppose that the one great thing that adults lose when they jettison childish things - over-excitement. That and laughing, I mean really laughing. Being flaccid and helpless with mirth. When's the last time that happened to you? I thought as much. Shame, really. I used to love a laugh, me.
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