Missing Sarmale

This is one of the days where I have to repeat in my head "my job makes me feel important"* in order to go on. Must be the weather.

Coming to work at 7.30 in the morning has its ups and downs. People think I'm a bit crazy when by 9am I'm very hyper and eager to see things done, when nobody has yet started on their coffees. If they could actually say what they really think, it would probably be in the form of "Relax, take it ee-ee-sy, 'cause there is nothing that we can't do"... Luckily, singing is not a job requirement.

So, while they are adjusting to reality, I can have a daydreaming session (in line with "what women want"):

- I wish the weather were better cause I didn't pay that much on bikini to keep them in the cubboard, and my legs are still white

- I wish I could work on the beach (in relation to the above) and have a good cocktail next to me and some good-looking male assistants at my disposal

- I wish my car had better airco and bigger trunk and more horse-power and a "detecting and avoiding idiots on the road" mechanism and it should be red and it should be German not French

- I wish there were some masseurs around to deal with various aches and pains every half and hour or so

- I wish I could just go to sleep for a few hours and when awake, the above mentioned assistants will have finished all my work

- I wish I could do fun things every day; several times a day

- I wish I could go to a fancy restaurant every day; once a day is fine

- I wish this office were warmer than the North Pole and the internet were down at least every once in a while so that I don't find so many distractions...

All in all, I do a "very good" job. I was told. I have mails to prove it. That is actually what I'm trying to do now, I'm searching for mails of praise from clients and colleagues to attach to my up-coming half-year review.