Dear diary, (man if you ever wrote that for real, you are sad. Sad and sad. Sorry. But you are.)

Today was the first day of work where I was over it. Couldn’t go around it, couldn’t go under it and so I was left being over it. And it could, and would, have been a good day only someone was playing with time. Slowing it down till it was almost still. Honestly wouldn’t be amazed if it was going backwards for half of it. As you’d imagine, this made the day drag on a bit… How was it for you? On the 21^st Feb? I heard on the radio similar thoughts to mine were voiced by uni students worldwide stuck in life draining lectures but if you were on holiday, I reckon you ought to thank the guy!

- if you want to get paid at work for doing nothing, try drinking lots of water = toilet time, and if you are truly committed, try running your hand down jib board = splinter removal time.

Or that was this morning. Then the person playing with the hours messed up big time, spilt the tin and sent time pouring out of control all over the place. Time became an unreality. Or was that the paint fumes? Woah, there’s a troll sitting under my ladder! Where am I?

Couple of hours later (I update when I get a thought you see) and I am entering the land of the bad trip. It feels as though I am painting door frames with a miniscule brush over and over, door after door, room after room and it just won’t stop!!!

Kill me, dress me, wash me, run with me, learn the time with me… become me!