Tuesday, 6 October 2009

Right then...

I guess I've been not-in-a-good-mood for a few weeks for a very simple reason.

Lack of sleep.

For the last three Sundays I've had almost no sleep, which has resulted in me being spaced and irritable at work on a Monday, which has made all the stupid politics that I normally laugh at seem like a personal affront, which has put me in a bad mood in the evenings, which has disturbed my sleep and so on and so on. Like a negative feedback loop of tickedoffedness.

On the plus side, my Saturdays have been amazing.

I suppose it doesn't help that Mrs RS lives in New York - meaning that the only time we can have a conversation is normally late at night when I've been so very tired. I'm very much looking forward to our three weeks in the same time-zone over Christmas and New Year.

Anyway, my sleep has been destroyed on a Sunday night for various reasons. A few weeks ago was my fault for letting Harper's Island get to me (I've now solved this by watching Match Of The Day right after it finishes as nothing dissipates fear like watching Didier Drogba hurl himself to the ground every five minutes), but the last two weeks have been because of something else entirely.

Seeing as it's the beginning of the week (roughly) and I was feeling all lyrical today for some reason, you may have the reason in poetic form:

I walked to work and what did I see?

Thousands of students looking at me.
Then I thought of something I saw on TV
(That we all owe three-quarters of our GDP.)

I noticed they all had more money than most,
As they smeared caviar on their triangled toast.
So I figured a way to bridge the spending gap,
By picking on those who most need a slap.

Tax hike on cheap Merlot and wine by the glass.
A large fine for wearing a miniskirt to class.
Pay double for Minis and Fiat 500s
(Until they learn to drive without crashes and blunders.)

20% on jeans that show off your crack.
40 on mullets that hang down your back.
Ugg boots and PJs? You'll pay for that!
As much as that git in a big jester's hat.

We'll triple the price of your small bag of coke.
And quadruple the cost of the weed that you smoke.
There is, however, a route through this pain,
And that's to stop having fucking parties on a Sunday night until 4am the next morning and meaning that your neighbours get no sleep no matter how much they knock on your door and complain, YOU UTTER BASTARDS.

I think the last time needs a bit of work though? I dunno. Feel free to add your suggestions.

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