Today is one of those perfect Ferris Bueller windless blue-sky mid-twenties days that makes working beside a window unbearable.My dying succulent and I both know that we should be out there frolicking barefoot in the grass or reclining on a Banana lounge with my Breakfast at Tiffany's sunglasses, but apart from work, what's stopping me (and not Succy because he's not much of a runner) is the inevitable stepping on some tanbark and rolling an ankle, while the Banana lounge would somehow crumple in on itself and slowly bake me into a loaf of bespecaled bread.
And nobody likes to eat Jade flavoured Banana bread.
Surely there’s a way of gaining the freedom of not having to work and yet still getting paid to do nothing. And don’t tell me that it can’t be done, because the almighty Mr A in the office behind me does it everyday and gets away with it. My guess is that it’s something to do with computers.
A ‘virtual’ something.
I’m going to try pressing F1 through to F12 all at once and see if that does the trick.
Ms if-this-doesn’t-work-tell-Succuy-I-love-him M.
