Thursday Before Friday

I swan around the place. There is blonde Latvian sitting at my desk doing my work, so I focus my energies on attempting to distract other people from theirs.

My super-hot-replacement is, indeed, super-hot. She is all tall and blonde, and has thrown the delivery men into quite a fluster. She is very nice, and has lots of good stories about what it is like to be a model. My modelling experience is limited to once having the best photo up on a Wall Of Shame at some University friends' house. People would walk into the room, gaze at the wall of about one hundred of the least flattering photos of people ever taken, and just stare at the one of me, justifiably aghast. From what I gather, professional modelling is all about standing out from the crowd, so I think I might give it a shot.

I still have no idea what I am going to do with the minutae of my days when I leave, but every time I try to think about it my brain just shrugs it off. Sing, probably. At people, aggressively.

I might, MIGHT take photos of my leaving do, and post one of the SHR (super-hot-replacement), but then I might not. Some people have been a bit too grabby about the whole affair and I do not reward bad behaviour (I have seen Super Nanny and that programme about making naughty dogs stop being naughty.)

Tomorrow is my last day. Holy fuck.