2-7

I'm in the midst of a working marathon. Today is day 3 of a 9 day stint in which I am working every single day. Again now. Every, Single, D-A-Y.

Apart from losing the chance to see my darling Hubbie until practically Sunday morning, and being unable to participate in any social event of any kind, see any friends, and drink copious amounts of alcohol, it actually won't be that bad.

It's due to a new roster at work, which is trying to disentangle the current problem for us of too many workers, and not enough desks (yes, crazy as it is, it's actually true).

Which means having to work 9 days straight, including working through a weekend. Every day I've woken up and compared the days worked to the days left to work. At the end of the day it will be 3-6. I'm desperately teetering on the edge of my seat, hanging for that first number to rise and rise, until it turns into a splendid, curvaceous, 9.

All of this working every day crap would normally be shit, if it wasn't for the light at the end of the tunnel right now.

And that bright, shining, glowing, MAGNIFICENT light is a glorious 4 DAYS OFF.

At this stage, once I pass the hump-mark, the weekend, I'll consider my mini-holiday practically here already.

I've just had a flash forward (In no way promoting that failed, crappy tv show). On Sunday it will be 5-4.
Oh wonderful, blessed Sunday, how revered you are.

The weather forecast is also on my side, as it looks set to be a truly miserable weekend. Rain, wind and cold, cold days. I'm really hoping for the worst possible weekend, because it would make me feel so much better. Is that just a tiny bit selfish? Me think uber-selfish:)

And I'm projecting all my energy into next weekend AND the weekend after being super fine, as that's when I have my four days off, and then the grand event: My Birthday Extravanganza.

Watch this space....