I’ve been sat on the floor daydreaming for a while now and my stomach is beginning to complain. So I make my way down to the kitchen, but before I get there I notice a plastic bag on one of the tables in the living room. Intrigued, I go over and open it up. Damn. That is a lot of money. I can see at least six or seven bundles of notes, I pick one of them up and work out the total. One thousand. Where the hell did six or seven thousand come from? And why is it in cash? I’ll have to ask Seb about it later, I assume this must be his. Maybe he’s transferring it between accounts, but surely it would be easier just to write a cheque or something? There’s not much point speculating, I’ll just avoid the temptation to go and spend it.
I head through to the kitchen to find something to eat. I manage to find some bread and jam, it’s nothing fancy but I’m not really in the mood for cooking anything. There’s nothing good on TV, not that I was expecting anything, so I just sit in silence, taking a bite, chewing, swallowing, taking another bite…Damn. I have to do something; I can’t just sit here, waiting for the sun to cross the sky. I can’t just watch clouds drifting lazily over the rest of the frantic city, I have to do something.
So I get up, open up my laptop and turn it on. It takes an age to load up, only for it to run out of charge. Just my luck. I search in the case for the power cable, but eventually find it plugged in next to the bed. I guess Seb was using it last night and wanted to keep an eye on me. Either that or he got bored of waiting for me to wake up. I plug the laptop in and try again, this time it’s a little faster. I open a report I was supposed to complete last week that I never got round to. I may as well get it finished; it’s more useful than watching repeats of shows that weren’t any good to start with and definitely less boring. So I begin to type statistics and numbers that I have committed to memory then begin to analyse them, following the strict protocol to the letter to ensure I don’t leave anything out. This always seems a little pointless, they know exactly what the figures are for the last three months and they don’t really need them analysing. They never make any changes unless we have a seriously bad month. Still, I make my suggestions for improvement that will be completely ignored, save the document and email it through.
Less than a minute later I receive an angry email from Ed:
Thanks for sending this through, but seriously, you HAVE to stop working. You need to relax - I don’t want you tired out for tomorrow as well. We need you back as soon as possible and wasting energy on writing reports is not going to make that happen.
I reply quickly, hoping he’ll see it before someone gives him something more important to do.
So you admit that these reports are a waste of energy then? I’m afraid I don’t do ‘relaxing’ I find work much more enjoyable. If you want me back as soon as possible, why are you insisting I don’t come into work?
His response is almost as fast.
I have said so many times, but still I’m ignored. You don’t always hate things that are bad for you, sugar is a good example. I don’t want to risk you ending up injured again, you were very lucky you didn’t hit your head last time.
I consider my reply carefully, I want to disagree but he makes his points well.
Say it a bit louder next time will you? It’s me who has to write the stupid things. You seem to be suggesting that work is bad for me, surely that’s the kind of attitude you’re supposed to be stamping out? You say it as if it’s a daily occurrence, it’s only happened once, I don’t see why it should happen again.
I wait for a few minutes, but still there is no reply. I guess I was too slow, or he’s in the process of sacking me. Either way, I’ve made my point and I have a good idea what I’m going to do next.
I shut the computer down, go up to my room and find my work clothes. I put them on and head into the bathroom to sort out my make-up. The ends of my hair are definitely closer to brown than blue now, but I think I can be excused if my appearance isn’t quite up to scratch. I’m not quite sure why I’m suddenly in a rush; I’m almost four hours late anyway. Still, I run down the stairs and slip on my heels with similar haste to yesterday. At least, I assume that was yesterday, I don’t actually know what the date is today, so I could have been unconscious for days. I step out of the door.
Everything goes white.