Archive for August, 2012

Picture the scene. Feel free to incorporate a soundtrack as well if it catches your fancy. Might I suggest something by Mayday Parade or for those less inclined to my musical whims perhaps something befitting the occasion like Chariots of Fire.

There I was sitting at my desk, oddly I find standing to be a chore, wondering whether time would pass by slower if I stared at the little clock in the corner of my computer screen or if I stared at the ceiling. In case your curiosity was piqued, the ceiling in my office is surprisingly well maintained. It then dawned on me, by way of association, that I had never actually been horizontal in my office. This made me rather sad. After all one of the joys of working in a large corporate environment is the opportunity for inter-office dalliances. Perhaps because everyone is so straight-laced at work we desire to discover what lies beneath. It could be that or it could just be the fact that most people are horny and secretly believe they’ll never be caught.

If these walls could talk is often what springs to mind when I recall all of the shenanigans that have taken place at what would outwardly appear to be a creative if somewhat staid working environment. The truth is you never really know someone until you’ve witnessed the transformation that takes place after they’ve had a couple of drinks. Suddenly your boss becomes your best friend. Awkward? Well yes and no, depending on how many drinks you’ve had yourself. There’s open and honest and then there’s OPEN and HONEST. Your boss for example doesn’t need to know that you collect pantyhose in your spare time but by the same token remember everything your boss tells you. What is inappropriate now makes for great blackmail material later down the road. True story. Oh and while I have your attention. Trust no one… ever!

Sadly, or not I suppose depending on your libido and your standards, female colleagues go from being somewhat alluring to downright irresistible after a couple of tequilas. Of course you also inevitably end up discovering that make-up is a necessity for some women rather than a luxury. I just re-read that part and now I feel bad. Okay I’m better now. Right so you’ve slept with your colleague. Now what? Sure she’s cute but now it’s boring. Thank God you work together after all she’s not going to cause a scene if you tell her you want to cool it. Hmm lets review that shall we. Female, check. Emotions, check. Rational… I take it you see where I’m going with this. A woman scorned contrary to what you may think is not a friend for life. I admit men aren’t that much better when they happen to be on the receiving end of an exit wink. We may not be big on theatrics but we sure know how to hold a grudge. Is this good for overall productivity? Fuck who cares. But it sure doesn’t make for a pleasant working environment.

As my dad always said, ‘never dip your pen in the company ink.’ Of course I had no idea what he was on about and wrote it down to the fact that he was going senile. Now that I’m older I realise I was just a really slow kid…

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I think I almost died at gym this morning. Okay so perhaps I’m exaggerating a bit there but I definitely had an out of body experience. It’s bizarre how an apparatus that looks so innocuous can lead to bi-polar disorder. One minute I’m euphoric and the next moment I’m wondering if I have inherent masochistic tendencies.

I am referring to the treadmill. I think it would be more apt if it was called dreadmill. Of course I have no one but myself to blame. Every morning I wake up and convince myself that running is fun. Apparently I like lying to myself. Don’t get me wrong there are some aspects of running I enjoy. For example I love going to the shops and buying the latest running shoes or getting the latest moisture wicking top. Yes I realise that sounds sad but I don’t care what you think. Okay don’t judge me, I am but a sensitive, delicate soul.

I would like to say that I ran an epic marathon-esque distance this morning hence all the drama and wailing. Regrettably however I only ran 10km. In my defence I hopped on the treadmill, and feeling full of joie de vivre, said to myself (in my head obviously because I find talking to myself in public attracts curious stares) lets crank this baby up. My enthusiasm was fleeting. After 20 minutes I had to start singing songs in my head just to distract myself from the ongoing torture. Surprisingly Britney Spears songs are rather soothing.

After 40 odd minutes I stepped off the treadmill with a new appreciation for life. From now on I would subsist on a diet of McDonald’s burgers and never do a lick of exercise ever again. I think the trauma had made me delusional. Fast forward 3 hours and it appears my legs have finally forgiven me although they’ve made it quite clear that this kind of behaviour will only be tolerated in small doses and on special occasions. I must concede though that I have been walking around with a smirk on my face. For some reason  because I dragged my lazy ass, albeit a cute one, out of bed this morning I suddenly feel morally superior to everyone else. I’m feeling high on healthy endorphins. I think it’s time I start praying that I don’t turn into a hippy.

So despite my protestations to the contrary I guess I need to make peace with the fact that I actually love running. Whether I’m on the treadmill or hitting the road, it’s my personal form of meditation.