Who'd of thunk it? Not me, apparently.
I was perfectly content to just while away the hours in my realm of massively increased personal space decorating the place with astro-boy paraphernalia and reeling off the odd sneaky (but unheard) burp.
But people keep coming to me for decisions on things. Actual decisions. With implications attached and everything.
I missed State of Origin 1 because I was stuck up at Parliament House until after 11pm.
There should have been something in my sign-on agreement about proper recompense for missing live coverage of sporting events of cultural importance and national significance.
And there's a danger that tonight I'll miss a first-run Simpsons. I mean, come on people! This is getting out of hand.
They've even given me a
You'd think I'd go home, rather than sit here and take the time to compose and format a lengthy complaint about being at work late.
But oftentimes, it is the worst kind of 'working late' - where one is waiting on information from someone else before one can meet one's own deadlines.