28.11.2006 - 13:26

This is the worst trip I've ever been on.

I think I need a holiday, a vacation, if you will.

1. I sit across from my boss and just the way he seems to type so agressively, so persistently, is driving me nuts. I must preface this by saying I really do like my boss, but he writes very long emails All. Day. Long. Right now, he is eating lunch at his desk and still tippity-tapping away. The clicking is making me go progressively bonkers and shortening my fuse. What is so irritating is I know that in the end most of the recipients will look at the email, read it in 20 seconds and say, "eh" whilst I will have had to have listened to the gestation of the email for a half an hour. Including a running commentary on the contents, under the breath. I'm not even going to begin again on the topic of his near-constant coughing, spluttering, gagging, schnurfling and what will you. It puts me off my food, and it might do the same to you.

2. I no longer care very much about really doing any work whatsoever. I do the minimum, then spend the rest of the day following random links on Wikipedia and thinking about adding stuff to my wedding list. Sometimes I might read the New York Times online if I want to make it look like I'm working or at least doing something meaningful.

3. Bruce's near-CONSTANT worrying that he will not be allowed through immigration has gone from cute to grating. We are not talking about the green card process. Oh no. We are talking about the common-or-garden going through immigration at JFK on the visa waiver programme. He is convinced he has a good chance of being turned away and sent back to England, even though he is A) British B) the whitest man I know C) speaks real posh and D) has no criminal record or any whiff of anything improper about him. I am so SICK of it when I say, "when we're in New Haven in a couple of weeks" and he says, "I may not make it through." What the FUCK is the proper response to that? His pessimism, which he erroneously brands realism, is boring and dumbdumbdumb.

4. I fucking HATE the transport system in London. Every day it is something new -- today it involved waiting at the Angel on a broken down number 43 bus for ten minutes until we were told that due to a mechanical fault we would need to get on another number 43, which was five minutes away. The driver didn't allow us off the bus for about two or three minutes, even though most of us just wanted to make our ways onward by any route, not on the promised 43. Oh, and it was raining. Or, technically, pissing.

I want out and I want home. Now.

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last time I bothered - next time I bothered