On Friday morning I wake up at 0600 after having gone to sleep at 0200 and as I’m having my breakfast of three eggs and two pieces of toast, I stab myself in the bottom lip with the fork and blood comes gushing out, blood which reminds me that I might be human after all.
Deciding against calling in sick, because I’m strong and resilient like that, I bite on some tissue for 15 minutes and go to work.
At work, the following things (OK, emails) happen.
A Girl (0937):
“In other less important news, I got 1 hour, yes, 1 hour of sleep last night between the hours of 6:30-7:30 so obviously I feel fantastic.
What on earth are we going to do today?”
“You look fantastic for one hour’s sleep. I had a new delivery of prescription sleeping pills yesterday so I held off until 0140 when I took one. These were the best 4 hours of sleep I’ve ever had because I woke up at 0600 again.
I don’t know. I’m open to anything that won’t kill me instantly. Other than that, I have no fucking clue”
A Girl (0956):
“I was afraid of this. Oh well. At some point later in the day I need to take a picture of you at your desk for day 2”
(Note: A Girl has decided to take pictures of me sitting at my desk – one each day for my last weeks at work – and put them up on the left hand side of her desk, so that when she looks up she thinks that I’m still there after I’m gone)
“Oh yeah, I almost forgot this with all the turmoil our lives have been thrown in.
Right now I’m starving. I’ll have some biscuits and some pills”
A Girl (1005):
“I was just going to ask you what you were eating. If I weren’t so tired I might be hungry. I haven’t eaten since the snack of chicken and tomatoes I had here yesterday around 1700. I’m working on just withering away”
“This is a strong look, but I’m confident you can carry it off”
After work, where I manage to stay awake for most of it, I go to the gym where I do arms and abs, and then Scott picks me up and we go to Sadler’s Wells to watch a dance production of Dorian Gray with Brendan, Donnell, V and D.
Unfortunately on this day I happen to be wearing my Smiths t-shirt (again) and then it hits me how embarrassing it is to be wearing a Smiths t-shirt to an Oscar Wilde play (with Morrissey being one of the people who have championed Oscar Wilde so much of course).
So I tell Scott that my t-shirt is ridiculous and I shouldn’t have worn it there and that it’s like turning up at a gig wearing a t-shirt of the band that you’re going to see…
…and Scott says, but you do that anyway, don’t you…
…and I ask him when, when did I ever go to a gig wearing a t-shirt of the same band, and you don’t know anything about me, do you, no answer that, do you know anything about me?Then Scott does not answer that and then we watch Dorian Gray, where I manage to stay awake for some of it, and then I go home.