Every so often I want to go to work in a striped blue shirt and shotgun Red Bull and drink at lunch time and fire off emails and make snappy banter and slap girls on the arse and Slamdunk the Henderson Account and reply to a dozen or so of my 500 emails and walk around my cubicle with my bluetooth and go jogging right before hitting the pub/nightclub/girlfriend/ATM/kebab stand/train station/bottom of what I thought was a bottomless well of despair.
***In my head I have this whole metaphor worked out about how the well is deep and it's full of water (despair) and you can float on water and when you (the well) are (is) full of despair (water) you float back to the top but mostly I want to go back to making rape jokes about Vice Presidents.
Pocketing my cufflinks and rolling up my sleeves and synchronising my Outlook Calendar and she didn't say no but she didn't exactly say yes and talking about clients and charging it to the expense account and eating Chinese and hi-fiving and dancing while always holding my beer in one hand and an ass in the other and still talking about work and walking home with my tie in my back pocket and my shirt half pulled out and punching the wall on every alternate step and saying i HATE (punch) myself i HATE (punch) myself .
Blaming the cuts on my fists to a fishing accident. Talking about that promotion. Getting that raise. I'm in hell.
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