Here I am, again. In front of me is a man with 1984 on his lap, playing clash of the clans (a game my brother plays) on the phone. Two minutes later, he gives up his seat to me, for no apparent reason. No orwellian nightmare here.
Last night was probably the longest time I have ever stayed at the office, and it kills me to up and running and typing things I do not care of, writing to all these datuks and datins for their approvals on little projects scattered in small countries. Twelve hours later, in the boardroom with the CEO, we all observe how the figure seems to be deciding whether or not to proceed with the projects. I am, of course, tired of all this as I had not a normal rest day for the past month, such that thoughts of turning up with a resignation letter often occurs to my mind. But we endure, nevertheless.
Then there are calls that are unreturned, books that are left unread, essays half typed, ideas scattered about, letters not fully formed. I look at all this with terrible groan, and proceed to sleep.
perkaraperkara 