Feeling fed up? Had a gutful? Want to spill your guts? Has the week left a bad taste in your mouth?
Hello and welcome! I'm your host, Gaijin Girl, and I'll be talking you through this week's episode of ...
FRIDAY SEPPUKU! [cue balloons, streamers and audience applause]
OK, quieten down, folks. [Flashes white teeth to the crowd with a dazzling smile.]
Thanks for joining us. If you're new to the programme, I'll give you a little background. Every Friday, we get together and have a whinge about how bad our week has been... about the shocking state of the world... about the apathy of our 'leaders'... whatever you feel like. It's a wonderful free-for-all where everyone is welcome to shed some light on the dark events of their week or the morbid state of their soul. The person with the sorriest rant will be the hapless winner of the most amazing prize, yet to be determined. At the very least, your pathetic state of being shall be added to this post as an addendum.
So, to get things rolling... I offer a story. It's hardly of Darfur-esque proportions or even significance and I certainly recognise the banality of the following compared with the bigger picture. My gripe is about work.
I can't write too much, as I think they know about my blog at work and I need to be careful. You know, because it's such an amazing job and I'd hate to lose it! All I can say at this time is that stress has caused a twitch in my right eye, which makes the Clown think I'm winking at him, and he has therefore taken to offering me lollies, fruit and biscuits. While I'm partial to the odd snack, I don't really want to accept treats from a Clown wearing a face mask while he is spreading his germs around the office like a bad case of the clap.
In addition, I also hate that I work for over 45 hours a week in an office with windows running along the length of the building. This in itself is not bad, but for 9 hours a day I sit at my desk while the windows are closed, the blinds are drawn, and fluorescent lights burn my retinas away. Multipy 45 hours a week by the 18 months I have worked there, and that's a graph I bet even Hamish wouldn't bother putting together.
Time in that airless room is time I will never get back. Such is my whine. What's yours?