The mystery of a good feeling

To admit that I’ve had a productive day today, I would first have to accept that someone can claim such without actually producing anything. Other than words, of course. Oh, and a couple of emails.

Somehow, and despite the knowledge that claiming a solid day’s work when all the evidence would suggest my output could best be compared with that of a Neo-Conservative compassion plant, I still feel as though I genuinely have had a wholly bountiful 24 hours. Admittedly, my day started badly, but a cheerfully positive meeting easily swept away the initial horror of waking at ten-past-six (you’d be surprised how many people are around at that time!) and commuting to that giant multi-storey car park, London*.

So, why do I feel as though I’ve had such a succesful Thursday? Fuck knows. Although I don’t want to make a habit out of having good days but nothing to show for it. That’s a slippery slope to the position of middle management and make no mistake. Oh well, tomorrow I’ll try and do something worthwhile.

Perhaps I’m overcomplicating the issue and it was simply the return of the long absent solar orb that brightened my generally extinguished spirits. I hope so. Alternatively, I could just still be riding high from the fact that my freakishly awesome binary watch from TokyoFlash arrived today. And it’s better than anything you’ve ever owned.

Is there really a need to justify my good feeling? Yes. Because the world is a shit place and if you start to think that you can randomly be happy without doing anything to deserve it, you are more naive and retarded than your taste in reading material gives you credit for.

*I make this comparison because in both places you are advised not to touch anything, most areas smell of piss, and I can’t think of any better venue to party the night away if I’m hoping for a good mugging or raping.

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