On the first day of the second month, in the twenty eighth year...

I'm looking at this toy sheep that sitting on the dresser beside my desk at the moment. It looks a bit...down, perhaps, though I reckon it has never looked happy in its entire life.

Bumped into a bunch of colleagues at the company bar, and party mode ensues. People harangued left right and centre, ladies on a diet having massive amounts of malt, I sat there and had a glass of water. Looked up, and that was it.

Come home, watched a taped T.V. show where the main character is surprisingly me. He fails in love, he tries to be cool but is overly emotive, though thoroughly competent, and an utter bore. And he's got the same job I do. Fascinating.

I must retire to my studies, before the sun comes up and kicks me in the eye again.