I have been having an internalised strop of epic proportions all day. It started badly, when despite my best attempts to get into work early, I found myself spending half an hour wildly trying on outfits and then discarding them again, wondering who had replaced my carefully coordinated capsule wardrobe with a random heap of rags.
Once I finally got into the office, I tried and failed to explain a particular intricacy of Web 2.0 to a colleague of mine, who's further up the food chain than me, only for her to tell me proudly that she didn't know what I was talking about and why should she; because after all she's never even watched a DVD before. Yes, my jaw hit the floor too.... and so did my carefully crafted feature.
I also want to book a holiday but I can't take any time off because everybody has snaffled up the summer months; we are only ever supposed to have two people off the rota at any one time which would be fair enough if it were to actually work that way in practice. Interestingly the person who organizes the thing doesn't seem that bothered about how many staff are off at the same time as her. I notice there is one day when I am in charge of exactly half the office with a full deadline to manage. I am tempted to take us all down to the pub and see what emerges at the end of it.
And finally... I'm out of cash. Fortunately payday is looming large but I spent my slush fund on getting the Angry Cervix calmed down. A necessary evil I'm afraid. It is now three weeks since the NHS promised to send me details of an appointment supposed to take place within the next 28 days. For all they know I could be dead by now.
Tomorrow will be a better day I'm sure.