Is it wrong that a little part of me is a tad disappointed I didn’t quite manage to clock up 80 hours at work last week?
Is it wrong that when faced with a proper cooked dinner, served at approximately the normal time for said meal, that I wonder how on earth I’m going to eat it and couldn’t I just have a roll and ham, then some crisps, then some chocolate, then some more crisps, a few digestives (or whatever else I can find lying around)?
Is it wrong that I’ve spent a large part of today wondering what I’ve forgotten?
Is it wrong that because I’ve been working so much I’ve now got even more things to do? Things I didn’t get done at home, and things that cropped up last week at work that I didn’t have time for (and this week I’ve only, currently, got one morning and one afternoon to myself as it is).
And is it wrong that I’ve spent the last hour daydreaming of retiring early and going to live on a beach somewhere?
No, I don’t think it is either.