Day 18 - The morning after the night before

Sickie over I felt a little bit better. Well actually I didn’t really, but I couldn’t handle another day at home, so I went in to work. Now the hard thing about having a sickie is getting up the next day. You struggle to go to sleep the night before as you’re not tired, and then you don’t sleep too well as your body is already rested and doesn’t need the extra. That’s when you play the sleeping in game in the morning.

You know the one. It involves some random logic in your mind about how 2 minutes extra will refresh you, a snooze button and then blind panic when you play for too long and are running late. But my game has two players – me and Coomba (my flat mate). We both set our alarms for 7am. The shower is on the second floor near our bedrooms. Now, Coomba has started setting his alarm for 7.05am. This means that now I stay in bed until 7.06am. Here’s why.

When my alarm goes off at 7am, I wake up and lie there for a little while. When I hear Coomba get up for the shower, I make a pathetic effort to do the same thing – allowing him to beat me to it every time. Then, defeated, I admit to myself that he’ll be in there for at least 20 minutes so I better go back to bed for another 20 until he gets out. Everyone’s a winner. I don’t feel like I’ve got no self-discipline and Coomba gets the first shower. But something is rotten in the state of Denmark. Lately Coomba has been doing the same thing.

Coomba - can sleep anywhere (including couches in loud Polish nightclubs)... crucial!

Anyway, work was a busy, busy day. Highlight was that after finding out where my boss was sitting for a formal dinner in the building, I did toy with the idea of leaving her messages under her seat, but thought better of it.

Went home at about 7pm with the idea of slowly heading down to the Alex to catch up with everyone after football training. Getting in the door I was accosted by several shrieking South African woman and I remembered – Gill and Holly’s book club. Shit. I was out that door with Road Runner-esque grace. The usual session after training ensued, although not as druken as usual. For the weekend I was named forward pocket, asked to run the bar on the day, and write a match report for all three grades by Tuesday. I volunteered to stick a broom up my arse so I could sweep the floor while I walked as well, but I had too much else to do.

Got home and tucked up by midnight.