An Itchy Head Kind Of Day

Our receptionist - if you can call her that - is off sick again and I have been helping out answering phones. I am really crap at that. I am a chronic daydreamer, so I won't hear the phone ring until it's been going for aaaaaages. But I have an amazingly fancy phone voice, you should hear me. If you judged me from my fancy phone answering voice, you'd think of me as supremely well groomed and respectable. I am neither. I can just fool you with my fake phoneline fanciness. 

Really, I am just writing this to break up the monotony of this day. We have been so busy. All I do is churn out jobs at this is gut-wrenching pace with no lunch breaks, no time to rest my aching head, no time to sort out those stupid things I have to sort out, like bills I have to pay. 

Sometimes a bit of goofing off can make you feel good about work again. I wish I was more like our receptionist. Every time our boss is on a shoot, she gets this mysterious recurring "Throat Infection". Shame. She can't even call anybody to let us know she isn't coming in. Again. It also causes temporary paralysis of her fingers so she can't sms anyone. Poor thing.

I wish I was more like her sometimes. Get a few extra days off, you know? But I am not. I take life quite seriously. Being alive and involved is important to me. Being a wet sack is such a waste of life.

Says me. Taking ten minutes out of my day to amuse myself with a bit of blogging. 

What a slacker.

Okay, I am going for coffee now. I really do love that coffee machine. On my way to work this morning I was thinking back to how much money I used to spend on that morning pre-work cappuccino every day. I mostly stopped when the boss brought the coffee machine over. I can't drink that fucking instant stuff. I am a bit like the princess and the pea when it comes to coffee. Or just a plain old snob. In a way, I kind of gave myself a raise. Which means, if I really wanted to, I could go shopping RIGHT NOW and get myself another super soft little round neck jersey from Woolworths. 

In The Traffic

Stop starting through the traffic, I was handed this pamphlet by some beady-eyed guy, in a secretive green envelope. (The pamphlet was in the green envelope. Not the beady-eyed guy). Of course I took it. I had to know what kind of advertising had to be concealed in an envelope.

That was very sneaky, Sangoma-Man.

I scanned in both sides. And please, Mr Sangoma-Man, don't be cross with me and curse me. This is free advertising on the world wide web! Go speak to your ancestors. They are sure to tell you this is a great idea.

The Hairy Eyeball

When I stopped in to see my mom on the way to work today, she could see there was something wrong with me. "Your eyes are skew" she said. I have been feeling a little crazy. Easy to hide The Crazy from other people, who can be quite relieved when you avoid eye contact. Not so from your own dear mother. She just knows. Then she bores into my head with her eyes, as if she can see the root of my crazy and do something about it. It just makes my eyelids droop. I am quite sick of my brain. I don't even want to talk about it.

The rad thing is scanning a crowd as you go on walkabout. Usually - this is wildest Africa, after all - you spend your time avoiding eye contact with the crazy people, the people wanting jobs, the people wanting money. Which are at EVERY SINGLE TRAFFIC LIGHT as you drive around. Just waiting to stick their hand in your car window or follow you until you stab them in the eye. I used to feel sympathetic, but I have no sympathetic left. Now I just have a stiff neck from shaking it "no" a minimum of 10 times every single day. And that's only because my drive to work is 10km through suburbia. Weekend driving is worse. You encounter more traffic lights. Some intersections have five beggars/salesmen. And most of them breathe booze fumes on you and have ceased to even ask for cash. They just breathe on you with an outstretched hand.

Off on a tangent. Fuck it, man.

Today I got to be the crazy person. I went to a fancy shopping center to get hair conditioner - long blonde hair, I use a shit load - and gave the hairy eyeball to many a fancy folk. I must have looked a bit like a drunk, with my crazy eyes, and my jean shorts and havaianas, amoungst the neat-as-a-pin business tycoons.

I need a cup of tea. Peppermint tea. I have banned myself from espressos until my eyeballs are back to normal.