It's that wonderfully special time of the year, where everyone you meet is tired and crankypants and just wants to go home and not play with anyone anymore ever. That's Christmas; the most magical time of the year. Every year I forget that the year before I swore to myself that I should not work the week before Christmas because it totally, totally sucks, but here I am, yet again.
It's completely draining. I'm pretty sure I had a microsleep on the way up in the elevator this morning somewhere between floors six and ten, and every hour of the day feels like a lifetime. It's like being forced to watch a whole season of Keeping Up With the Carcrashians in a day, except no-one wears baggy leather slut pants and, according to my corporate directory, there are no men called Kanye in the house, yo. Although sometimes my life feels like a reality trash carcrash.
Shopping centres are also hardcore at this time of the year, but imagine how Santa feels? The man's gotta be a sadist, willingly inviting all those little terrorists to sit on his lap all day. Who does that? Fortunately for us suckers enduring this last working week before Christmas, it'll all be over by Friday, when the day of reckoning is upon us and the zombie alpacas will come and suck our brains out. I can't imagine that anyone will be able to tell the difference, to be honest.
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