Working Late

Steve is slaving away, unpaid, at the hospital, where some poorly person is having implants put into his mouth while Nurse Steve stirs pink plastic at his bedside.

Or at least that's what I assume happens. I know he is in surgery. (You are not allowed to phone people who are In Surgery, in case you ever felt tempted to do this.)

So I am supposedly working late too. But I am really pushing my endurance now, quite frankly. There is only so much copy I can write, especially when it's going to come back covered in green revisions tomorrow. Green revisions are not very encouraging and sure to make the next batch even worse.

Still, some good will come of it. I am sitting in the front room, where the neighbours can clearly see me tapping away at the laptop through the window. Poor martyr, they will say. So devoted to her work.

Oh, bums to it. I am going to go and wash the dishes. Perhaps I will send some more emails first. I do like to make sure everyone knows that I am slaving.