If only I had one extra hour in the day. 

(photocred: g bergman.)

A day in the life (and/or convincing the reader I'm busier than I am):

During the summer, the days never seems to end. For those of us slaving away at nine-to-fives, the day starts early. Every morning I curse my lack of sleep, but in the evening, the idea of going to bed earlier rarely occurs.

My skin is alarmingly pasty-white from a summer spent inside an office. I spend eight hours each day with my nose buried in a notebook or a computer screen. Needless to say, my cubicle isn't the best place to get a suntan. 

By the time 5:00 p.m. rolls around, my sleepy eyes have recovered and though I may indulge in a nap, I'm ready for the evening. Convincing myself I have worked long and hard, I usually decide I deserve a drink, a dinner, a movie or a cup of coffee. I'll take just about any excuse to spend time with people who aren't on the clock. 

Suddenly it's 11:00 p.m. At this point I usually think, "I'm out anyways, I may as well stay a while." By 12:30 a.m. I usually have to remind myself that I'm not as young and cool as I used to be and make an excuse to go home. By this time I'm too tired and lazy to take the subway, so I shell out cabfare and am home within six minutes. 

As I eat whatever I have left in the fridge (which usually isn't much), I realize I forgot to finish my laundry, figure out my school schedule, look into autumn jobs and call my mum. Not to mention the lazy things like reading, watching comedies and sitting in the park that you're supposed to do in the summer. 

Maybe next year. Or maybe if I had that 25th hour in the day, I could finish it all.