Today I went in bright and early for bin-wrangling duties, to find my editor wasn't there yet. I sat around for an hour before she finally turned up and I and another minion went off to collect the bins. Then I came back to the office and spent two hours (TWO FUCKING HOURS) trying to get hold of someone in the OPW with whom we need to talk for a 130 word feature. 130 bloody words, no more than a paragraph which should have taken 20 minutes to do if the OPW answered their fucking phones. And because people kept asking me to do things, I had no lunch, and had no chance to eat anything until about five minutes ago. I was so hungry by about four o'clock that I kept mishearing people and taking phone numbers down wrong.
Now I am home, and I am incredibly tired, and I just bolted down my dinner because I was so hungry but I still feel faint, and there is a fucking car alarm going off at full and piercing volume somewhere on my road so I can't even lie down and rest. I feel like either bursting into tears or killing someone (the latter would probably be more enjoyable in my current near-psychotic state), and then lie down with some tea and watch Coronation Street, but instead I have to get ready to set out in half an hour and go and see a play - for work, of course - and then get up early and interview the star before speed-reading a novella and interviewing its author. Oh, God.