I was young I used to get so excited about Christmas and my Birthdays I used to get physically sick, yes folks, I used to have time off school because I was so excited I was sick with excitement.
Don’t get any ideas kids, you have so much time off school already I cannot imagine where you would find time to take time off because it was an anual holiday or anniversary.
Funnily enough my current employer, in a crazy twisted reflection of my youth, has gifted me an extra day off work because of my birthday, apparently this is a commensurate reward for not giving me the bonus they promised.
Cool.
Good to know that the fact I was born is more worthy of reward than the fact I work twice as hard as I am paid for and have helped our development achieve a standard never before achieved by our company, despite striving for 15 years.
Not that I’m bitter.
I am so excited, and that “so” should be written in letters 14 feet high and flashing brightly enough to send any epileptic within 2 miles crashing to the ground and chewing their tongue.
I cannot imagine how I am going to get through the next 2 months without exploding and showering any bystanders in Chris excitement.
Nice.
I have to repress it, press it down inside, ignore my fluttering heart.
Must focus on the now, focus on the cunty bricklayer with head to toe tattoos chucking his crushed energy drinks can over the scaffolding.
Focus on the wanky labourer who can only keep one, small, simple, basic task in his head at a time, and try to stop him beating his own brains out on the scaffolding because he doesn’t know where to wear a helmet.
Distract myself by trying to understand the welsh timber frame erector, try to explain that just because his predecessor is sueing his boss for breaking his leg whilst using a step ladder illegally he probably will not get away with the same thing.
Concentrate on the petty ridiculous concerns of the client, ” how big do YOU think this mirror should be?”
“Where would you position this lounge light?”
Like it matters where the fucking lounge light goes in your holiday home to someone who can not afford a shed.
Keep the raging demons down though, pretend you care about the fucking lighting, try to give a damn about the wanky ground workers destroying their lungs with silica dust ( wear a fucking mask you tattooed macho twat, you know you should but your dick is so big it is growing up through your brain and so your manly idiocy takes its toll) Earnest agreement about the colour of the paint in your 6 bedrooms. Rich fucktards living it up on the back of payoffs from the scum you look down on.
Not that I’m bitter.
In the back of my head the monkey with the cymbals crashing out the addictive refrain “bike trip, bike trip, BIKE TRIP, FUCKING BIKE TRIP, clang clang clang FUCKING BIKE TRIP.”
I’m not bitter, but I am wondering if they’ll give me the next couple of month off sick cos I’m so FUCKING EXCITED!!!
32 days to “clutch out”.
Keep it together, mate.
Sounds like you need a holiday fella!
You should save that anger though. It’ll come in handy fending off those attack-otters! In fact any of those bitey, furry bastards. Just imagine them covered in tats with their arse cracks hanging out and you’ll be invincible.