Back to the day job. Like a tired old acquaintance, the day job rewarded me with a stuffed inbox and a million things that needed instantly fixing. Thanks a lot, day job.
There was, however, something great about being a sort of deus-ex-machina, dropping in from a week in Wales to heroically right all the wrongs and patch all the holes. Of course, it was tempered by the fact that I had actually caused most of the holes and wronged most of the wrongs during the previous week. So not really that much of a deus-ex, after all.
More of a Lex Luthor pretending to be Superman. No-one's fooled.
Other than cramming my mailbox and shifting my gears out of holiday-mode, the day job has also reminded me today how weird it is - sitting here day after day, rattling away into this computer. It hurts my back, drains my eyes and occasionally makes me breathe-out slowly and count to ten... but it also pays the mortgage and lets me wander around Sainsbury's looking for pasta and fruit punch. Consequently, it and I have a peculiar relationship. It's like slow-burning kryptonite - sort of.
Lex Luthor eh. For other reasons I won't go into, I did a test today, to check whether I was a narcissist. I scored 7. I don't know what that's out of - the website didn't tell me, or specify the units of narcissism. It did say though that the average was between 12 and 15, that celebrities usually score over 18 and that real narcissists are over 20. It's possible that I even got 7 because I took the test in the first place.
I think the unit of narcissism ought to be the 'selfie'. I scored 7 selfies out of 20 selfies. I like that I made that up - though if it catches on, I'll have to add another couple of selfies to my narcissism score of course.
Like Lex Luthor, pretending to be Superman with a gigantic selfie-stick.
Urgh. Bring on the kryptonite.
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