Inner monologue

Work, 11am.

God, another one of those days when I just get to wait on other people. I don't really want to start anything new, I'll just be interrupted. There's no one here to chat with. There's no good work-safe web surfing. God.

I'm bored.

Bored, bored, bored, bored. Bored. 

I wish I could blog.

God, I'd probably just blog about how bored I am.

I wish I could blog about work. There's so much to say about work. It's so not a good thing to say. It so sucks I can't blog about work, I spend so much time here, it's such a big part of my life, none of it is write-able. I mean how ridiculous is it that ... huh. What percentage would that be? Where's my calculator. ok. I'm supposed to work, what, 32 hours a week, divided ... by ... 

Huh. How many hours are in a week. Clear. 7 x 24 is ... ok, so 32 divided by 168. That's ... 

19%. Huh. That's not actually that much of my week. Well, no, when you take into account sleeping, which is, what, eight hours a night, so eeiigghht times sevvvennnn isssss 56 divided by 168 ... 

You know, I bet that would have been easier to figure out if you just realized that 8 hours is 1/3 of 24, and you do that every night. 

It's clear why I get paid for writing and not math. 

Although perhaps not today, it isn't.