I’ve just had a meeting.
Not a creative brainstorm.
Not an exciting new brief.
It was about data mining.
Seriously, at one point I was afraid I had started to drool.
On the occasions when I found myself jerking to awareness it was to the droning monotone of the presenter, which sent me straight back into a coma.
Eventually, I began to pinch the skin on my hands in the hope that the pain would startle me back into consciousness.
It was like going back in time to Professor Something or other in 3rd-year varsity. I spent many hours asleep in his airless chamber as he droned about the homosexual in Shakespeare.
By the time the meeting finally bone grindingly came to an end, only one person remained awake and her only because she was sitting in the front and had someone kicking her chair at intervals.
I am 60 minutes closer to death. 60 minutes I could’ve spent having sex, updating my Facebook status, and rearranging my sock drawer.