Three hundred bricks floating in mid-air in front of my house, in the formation of the face of Che Guevara? I'd say that's pretty ludicrous too.

But the amount of work I have to wade through at my place of employ this week? It's more than ludicrous. It's insane. Most of it isn't too difficult, which I will take as a bonus, but there is just so much of it. I've been taking it home and spending time after dinner checking through the marked-up manuscript of an economics textbook. What makes this especially sad is that I don't find it boring.

Nothing really went down at work today, except me. In a manoeuvre that I choose to describe as "avant-garde", I attempted to sit down backwards onto my chair, swivel it and propel it with my feet back to my desk. It's a time-saving feat and normally I do it well enough, but in today's attempt I managed to sit down a little too precariously, so that when I went for the swivel-and-propel-with-the-feet action, I instead slid off the chair sideways and landed rather painfully on one hip on the floor.

I am an interpretive dance in perpetual motion.