Good lord this is turning into a long week. I worked for twelve hours* today. It takes its toll.

Have you ever woken up from a dream in which you were, ahem, intimate with someone you would never ever want to be ahem intimate with in real life - chiefly owing to non-gayness - and felt slightly disturbed by it for the rest of the day?** Have you ever stumbled zombielike around the office with such dull senses that you make two near-catastrophic mistakes within the space of a few hours?*** Have you ever sat in the bath at night, trying to keep yourself awake so as not to drown by turning your head little by little such that the droplets dripping from your chin realise a perfect reproduction of Munch’s The Scream in the thin layer of bubbles in the bathwater? Have you ever wondered why Selfridges don’t sell fridges? Have you ever had the suspicion that the blog entry you’ve just written includes at least one admission you’ll regret in the morning, but you’re too tired to work out what it was?

Me too. Night night.

*What I mean, of course, is that I was at work for twelve hours, but let’s not argue over semantics.

***But I also prevented my boss from making a catastrophic mistake, so that compensates for one of them.