This post was originally written for the History Matters Campaign, which decreed today, October 17th 2006, National Blog Day, the day on which people all over the world join together in writing a diary of their day, which will then be carefully stored by the British library as "a permanent historical record of our national life".
"Why, I am a blogger!" I thought. "I will do this!" So I did. The problem with that, though? Well, National Blog Day would have to fall on a day in which absolutely nothing happened, wouldn’t it? A day in which I got up, sat at my desk, and… sat at my desk some more. Seriously, I mean, I didn’t even pee in the woods or anything. I did put bleach in my coffee, of course, but other than that, I got nothing. Move along, folks, nothing to see here.
What little there is to see, naturally, is behind the cut. (And it’s loooong…)
Woken up by Rubin’s incessant yapping. GOD.
Place orange earplugs in ears, prod Terry in the stomach and listen with glee as he gets up and attends to Rubin. Go back to sleep.
The hell? Is that the time? Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, I should be up and at my desk by now! *Panic mode engaged*
Lie in bed and think about shoes.
Up! At last! Shower, makeup, begin process of deciding what to wear.
Put on leggings with new fine knit sweater dress as am all about the fashion. For real.
Remove leggings. Because OK, sure, I managed to convince myself I could get away with the leggings-under-dress thing last week, but today? Have I been smoking crack?
Replace leggings, just to be sure.
I mean, who wants to be a fashion clone anyway? Put on usual jeans, cami top and wrap cardigan combination.
Make coffee. Mmmm, lovely, lovely coffee!
At desk! At freakin’ last…
Blogging, blogging, blogging. Ooh! Lookit!
Neighbours! But oh no, Terry is not here in time! He’s at some business networking thing, and it’s our tradition to always watch Neighbours together, as part of, y’know, a special, bonding time. But now he’s going to miss it, and also, I’ve just revealed myself to be a sad, pathetic woman on my blawg. Damn.
Hey, I wonder if that blog Janae’s always talking about on Neighbours (myfoulhousemates.com) is actually a real blog? Wouldn’t that just rock if Neighbours had set up a fictional blog for Janae?
Not a real blog.
Lunch! Terry still not back, so, after a rummage in the fridge, I have managed to come up with a veritable feast of toasted salad sandwiches, and, of course, coffee.
Email back-and-forth with press release client who wants me to make the headline on his release "catchier". Carefully explain that in the world of the press release it’s not all about impressing journalists with my mad headline-writing skillz, but about giving them enough information about the story to try and persuade them to actually read the damn thing. Puns-R-Not-Us, I point out. That should do it.
Still not catchy enough.
God, I wish I was catchy.
Also: Where the hell is Terry?
Terry’s home, Terry’s home! And has won us two tickets to a swanky Christmas party, because if there’s something to be won, Terry will be the one winning it*
*Not the lottery, though.
Film Rubin pulling Terry’s sock off.
(I’m still working, by the way)
Take picture of my handbag for The Bag Lady.
Belatedly realise that swanky Christmas party = OMG what will I wear?!
Give up searching net for stunning party dress, and retire to kitchen to make coffee.
Pour bleach in coffee instead of milk. Realise that today? Is not really a day that deserves to go down in history, is it? Not exactly one to write home about. Give up blog project. Eat chocolate. The end.