Everything is completely fucked at the moment. In a crazy, crazy world, it might all just work out, but it's blatantly not going to, and that's worrying. This is causing me to morph into a walking prophecy of doom. I keep having the urge to melt wicked-witch-like onto the office floor in a puddle, and stay there until either I die or things get better. Obviously that's not possible though, so instead I turn to alcohol. Not in an alcoholic way, you understand; just in a fuck it, let's get pissed and forget it way.
I emailed Peter yesterday about the major industry event we're all gearing up for, which we're hosting at an external place no one's really seen properly yet. I think I got across the level of my despair quite well.
Hi,
Eight of the nine screens have now arrived. One is broken. Two more screens have been ordered, and if all goes to plan they will arrive on the day.
We still have no catering.
We still have no music.
However, I had a rant at Luke. We had a good chat. It made me feel marginally better, until I left the room and remembered I don't get to spend all my time talking to Luke and have to actually do my job as well.
So I went for a little lie-down on the floor in the downstairs toilets, and because the lights are movement-sensitive they went off after a while, and it was very nice lying in the dark on the nice cold floor.
I'll be drinking tonight, probably.
How are you?
Media Lady x
If I wasn't used to my own blatant fucking freakiness, I'd be worried about my mental health. But I'm sure I'll be fine. Just as long as I have vodka.
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