my life as a workaholic

Balance and me dont go together. Clumsy as a dodo...an ace when it comes to indulgence, I can delve deep into something that attracts or fascinates only to bommerang back faster. I need some balance. both of them.

My current employed status makes it no easier. I have become such a workaholic without wanting to that my bed is the only place apart from the toilet seat cover that is warmed by me. Call it recession but the average penny per day I make is equal to the average minutes spent per day. No more gym after work or guitar lessons. It has come down to sitting on the hot bed again and trying my keys at blogging. What has the world come to?

One month into my employee life and I was looking up university of barcelona, instituto hispania and everything else (inspired by penelope's hot spanish in vicky cristina barcelona) that would help me get out of the rut I had gotten into.

I am not complaining. I just am failing to see the point of working as days go by. You slog more, you learn more, you learn more, you know more, you know more, you are wanted more, you are wanted more, you have got to know more so you slog more...and if you are single and unmarried like me..you never go home to warm your lonely...or only bed !

I wish i was Paris Hilton..no, I wish I was her wealth manager. Considering her blonde cells, I would be instantly hired and then I'd do a Russel imitation of chinese( Beverly hills store - click click click and email to chink distributor),import Chinky Guccis and Armanis and coach to replenish her weekly or daily wardrobe. The rest would be invested in, naaah...not the stock market ( you seriously think so? Recession has made me wary enough), but in reality tv shows starring Paris hilton herself! Considering how indian reality tv honchos just warm their respective office seats, I'd sell my show rights to them on one condition. That Paris will be a part of the show. So there! I'll shuttle Paris around, while I ferry around the funds. Sounds like a plan!

But here i am, back at ten thirty pm..still staring at the screen, after 14 hours of it staring at my face. Neglecting the warning signs of spondilytis and wishing how if only some sort of reaction would take place between my saliva and the bedsheet dye, to produce....

Yawn.