How the fuck do you get totally knackered?? I mean the type of knackered where you’re totally drained, mentally and physically, where all you wanna do at the end of the day is to pour yourself into bed because your bones have turned to jello and your brains spongy, but where 6 hours of regeneration puts you back to good-as-new.
Work isn’t doing it for me, it’s turned robot-like and I’ve become this factory line operator where the hands move but the brains aren’t clicking.
Coming home means zombie-ing out in front of the TV, and the most taxing thing now is figuring out how to spell the names of the chemical compounds or bodily injuries on CSI. Not doing it.
Reading doesn’t do it.
Doing anything on my clunky little Pentium 2/15″ monitor combo just drives my BP up, nothing else.
Trying to rip songs to my Zen Micro makes it even worse. But, nope, doesn’t do it either.
Tidying my room – hopeless, thankless and endless task.
Staring at the 4 walls – book me a padded cell at the Hougang chalet.
Its 4.30am, I’ve been up since 9am. I’m fat and lazy and almost middle-aged. I should be sleeping the sleep of the fat and lazy and almost middle-aged.
Crap…C-R-A-P…crap. I want tired…T-I-R-E-D…tired. Please. Maybe I should take part in a speling bee. I hate being almost middle-aged. I would like a new computer. Stress is good. Nice is bad. I blabber.