Eight

Another year has passed. I tried to keep myself busy, but it was a rubbish day in work, not helped by the fact that I had an equally-rubbish night's sleep last night, which of course resulted in my complete reluctance to acknowledge the three alarms and wake up at 6:30am. Instead I woke at quarter to eight which blew my get-to-work-early-so-to-leave-early plan and, well, it just added to the general feeling of malaise that I get on every 9th of February. It's supposed to get easier, isn't it? Yet I find myself being a bit miserable and being away with the fairies, in equal measure as I think back to what was the first day of the worst week of my life.