Sunday in advance
It's Saturday, and it feels like it's Sunday, just as it felt like Sunday on Friday as well. Thursday I was at the Christmas party with the class after work. I had a cunning plan to take the latter path home to avoid having to spend money on taxis, but I had it all for fun, danced a lot and ended up by taxi from the opposite side of the city at three o'clock. I had the hiccups really, and before the taxi driver said hello he said "Tell me if you are bad, then, so I stop." Bill came to over 400 million, but in the summary of recent transactions in my online bank is no Payments to London Taxi, and it is not in the list of transactions that have not gone through yet. Free ride? If so, hurray!
On Friday I had a whole bunch of things I should do, but instead I took on my jogging pants and stared blankly at the computer screen before I slept from half two to three forty-five on the couch. The most exciting thing I've done today is to buy a damn nice pair of shoes and to shower a little longer than strictly necessary. I smell strawberries and want to go out and drink beer and laugh and dance, or at least drink beer and laugh, but it is certain no one will drink beer and laugh with me, so I'm sitting at home rather mutters alone, listening to jazz and smells on myself. I am full of self-pity, to put it like that, I can tolerate bad to have two Sundays in a row, and it works extra bad when I can look forward to another Sunday morning.
That otherwise I get the time pass by writing a summary of the year. I've come to November, and concluded that tjueti has been a good year, but you can not read about it before in twenty eleven.
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