Amazing Monday

Crust Pizza
Crust Pizza

I feel like the laziest person in the world right now: I ordered a pizza online from the pizza shop which is less than 100 metres from my home. In reality, there was probably more effort involved in going to my computer, typing in the details and making a choice than there would be in simply phoning. But I’m feeling a little anti-social tonight, and so ordering a pizza through a website was a far more appealing option for me than to actually speak to someone.

It’s this thing I’ve mentioned before: because I talk and listen for a living, a lot of the time when I come home I just want a bit of silence, a moment of zen, when I don’t really communicate with the world. It’s therapeutic, but I know I need to keep an eye on things: the older I get the more I’m sure I could become an anti-social hermit who is found dead with newspapers piled up to the ceiling. Well, actually no, that wouldn’t happen because I hardly ever buy newspapers anymore, at least not on weekdays.

The talk I had at work today, though, was incredibly interesting: one minute I was chatting about technology, the next minute about sport, and later still I was talking to some visiting people from Papua New Guinea about radio there. I am so incredibly lucky to have such an interesting job that keeps me stimulated for most of the day.

Even so, at the end of the day, it’s nice to chill out, hop online and order a pizza.

It’s also a night for washing and, gulp, ironing. Ironing is something I absolutely loathe. When it comes to business shirts, I mostly go to the laundromat where they do it for me at about $2 per shirt. Occasionally, and only occasionally I do it myself.

Tonight I’ve needed to iron a few things in preparation for my trip to Canberra tomorrow. According to a colleague the weather’s gonna be “stinking hot”.

It’s just an overnighter which is work-related, but which is also an opportunity for me to say goodbye to my friend Patrick. The lucky buggar has landed a three year job placement in Paris. Yes, Paris. OMG. Three years. Paris. Paris. Three years. OMG. I am soooo jealous.

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

%d bloggers like this: