I get home. Drop my bags at the door, hang my coat up and wash my hands. I turn the heat up and tie my hair into a knot. Turn up my music to block out the silence, I turn up my music to get back at my flatmate for playing drums at 8am this morning.
I sit at my desk. Its a mess, papers everywhere telling me to do this and complete that. I rub my head in stress my lips curled into a frustrated line.
My brain feels foggy and my body aches as though I am 80 rather than 20.
Trapped in this cycle of deadlines and seemingly pointless work.
If I choose to sit and read I am being unproductive, at least if I write then nobody can tell me that I am useless...I can't tell myself that I am useless.
Ok. I am going to buy some christmas presents and watch TV.
I will be productive after dinner.
