It's 17:08 GMT and the office is all but deserted. It's just me and the hum of the air-conditioning. Still, not long till home-time and a weekend of chillaxation (I like that word).
As I've gotten older, I can't believe just how fast time seems to be going. When I was a kid, a week was almost forever, now it's over before you can turn round.
I used to listen to that old Mariane Faithful song, The Ballad of Lucy Jordan and think 'that could never be me' but, here I am, a good deal older than 37 and I'm pretty darn sure I won't get to ride through Paris in a sportscar with the cool wind in my hair. Things that used to be really big passions with me seem to have faded with the years. I used to be mad on learning new foreign languages, but now I look at all the Teach Yourself books on my shelf (including Zulu, for some reason) and it just doesn't stir me anymore.
I think it's time for a change, I need to let go of all those things that no longer mean anything to me or that I just know will not be useful in the future. We carry all these ideas around about what type of person we are and sometimes forget to update them. This is Sartre's bad faith of the worst possible type.
Maybe once I clear these ideas out, I'll start to see a bit more clearly.