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Work was shite, largely due to the kind of wankjargon that would get you thrown out of The Office's writers' lounge for being too wankjargony. Protip: if you've already used the word "shared" twice in a very short sentence, you probably don't have to crowbar "united" in there too for emphasis.

And one of my better-fitting bras suffered critical damage in the form of the underwire on one side leaping, chestburster-like, through the seam and towards my neck, carving a lovely dark red line on my cleavage.

And I don't have time to do the cogwork embroidery I was planning so I've had to come up with an alternate wrought-iron design which will take less time. But I am not a girl who enjoys designing arty things that can't be quantified into cross-stitch.

And I've been getting fuckall sleep and thus was in no mindset to write that damn job application I have to do. It's a lovely vicious cycle, in that I will doubtless wake up multiple times tonight panicking that I have missed the deadline (and am thus condemned to an eternity of shared shared united collaborative shared jargonwank) which will mean I'm too tired to do it tomorrow etc. etc.

Bugger this, I'm going to bed.

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Boxing Day Baby

December 2010

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