6th April

No doubt, the last time I actually went to work was 3 years ago.

But why really care about time when it doesn't care about you? Same reason why I never wear a watch. Although some of them are pretty, what with their multi-million dollar design and shiny hands, sticks whatever they are called, the digits glowing back at you through an half or a quarter of an inch. Funny, how watches are made. Watches could be the future. Look at how we can turn time on the little knobs on a watch. Yet when we look at the time, we can almost never touch it, seeing its dials are always hiding behind something, be it glass or plastic. Weirdly relative to our very lives.

Fact : I am always never early for work. Neither am I on time. Being late is my career and that's how I get paid. A minute past 9 and my secretary breaks a small sweat at the back of her neck. 2 minutes, she scurries over to the water dispenser and takes another minute deciding whether a cold or hot one would serve her nerves better that morning. 3 minutes passed and she feels her skirt getting tighter as she paces up and down my Croatian carpeted floor. At 5 minutes she's practically in a dancing frenzy making the whole floor worry about me coming in. That's how people like me, late, easy and never a boss but a leader. I don't see it that way though. I don't know what i'm working as. It confuses me how I ever got that position, but why grovel at the floor of confusion when you can simply lick it up and say that it tastes really good? I do that every morning when I wake wondering why my bed smells of cinnamon and how the paper never has good news.

How depressing each morning reading the paper is, with its' bad news sputtering my face as the sun rises utterly destroying any form of breakfast that I've somehow managed to put together. Whoever came up with breakfast and the daily newspaper must've lived in a much happier time; which I doubt seeing that history has never been delightful, or he/she was a merry lunatic. Everyone would have a much more enjoyable morning if they watched Popeye or read Garfield. I normally make breakfast in the living room and sit cross legged on the kitchen table enjoying the music I selected for that morning. Eccentricity is my forte, without it I doubt i'd make it past noon.

Yet my car is never happy, spews out more toxic gas than speed and tells me that her seats need cleaning. I didn't know vehicles could talk...