July has always been a busy work month for me. Sometimes, I've been on holiday in July, but the weeks I've been "at work" have still been hectic. Other years, I've gone away in August and found the whole of the month pretty frenetic.
And hey, guess what? 2011 is no exception! I've told my clients I'll be away in August, meaning I'm NOT away in July and well. Work, it just keeps on coming...
Now, don't get me wrong: I'm not really complaining as I'd rather have this "problem" than the opposite one. But my natural tendency for leaving things to the last minute means I keep on wasting time and end up having to work all night. *sigh*
It wouldn't be so bad if I at least did something fun, or useful, whilst not working. Do you know what I did this afternoon? I got back from the university (last oral exam till September, woot!), made myself a ham sandwich, read the magazine I'm subscribed to (and that arrived by post this morning while I was out) and then... and THEN... (I'm embarrassed to even admit this)... I "watched" the live coverage of today's stage in the Tour de France.
Seriously - what is less interesting than watching a live cycle race over 226 km in the rain? Nothing, that's what. I absolutely couldn't give a toss who won (couldn't actually tell you, to be honest, even though I saw it. He was Norwegian, I do remember that), who's leading the overall race, bla, bla, bla.
But could I peel myself off the sofa and do something else? No, I couldn't. I couldn't even summon up the "strength" to have a nap - which would, at least, have made this evening easier.
Damn cycling. It's boring as hell, you can't tell who's who (and don't much care), it lasts FOREVER. Yet... yet... that's how I chose to fill the latter part of my afternoon.
So now, at almost 11 pm, I have a 13-page research article to proofread and a 1-page translation to correct for one of my students.
The only logic behind it that I can think of is that it allows me to look at the muscly thighs of lots and lots of young men (very muscly, I must say. Not so sure about those distinctly dodgy Lycra shorts, though. And I would rather look at the thighs of Johnny Depp, or Jon Hamm or Pat Monahan than those of random cyclists to be honest). You get your kicks where you can, I guess.