It's 10:30am and I'm already eating my lunch. The office is nearly empty and solitaire is not going well. My eyes are already bugging out and refusing to focus (though with my trusty new glasses, we're putting off the point where they go completely kaput for a bit longer).
After work today, I'm meeting my dad for a drink at our pub, Mr. Dennehy's. I really like that I can say that now. I'm meeting my dad for a drink. It sounds so adult, so very mature. It's almost weird, almost.
The problem with packing your own lunch is that no matter how hard you try, or how good the ingredients are, there's always a better version on sale "downstairs" for $7.95. I also never pack enough, so I end up being hungry again very quickly and have to go buy something, which thus defeats the purpose of packing one's own lunch. I suppose this could all be easily remedied by bringing along carrot sticks, a piece of fruit, some yogurt, but really I am far too lazy. Doesn't speak well of my personality at all, but there it is.
In other news, I love how this Bush microphone gaffe is being treated as an actual story, rather than just a funny incident that makes the G8 summit, thankfully, have a humorous side. They're asking Blair and Bush about it, as if there's anything scandalous about using the word shit--particularly in reference to this kind of situation. Please, Middle East diplomacy would would spur the Pope into cursing (which by the way, I am convinced he does irregardless of the subject).
I am hot and cold at the same time. The air is on ultra-igloo high, but we opened a window. I am waiting for us to have weather in the office.
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