I won’t say the -good- old times are back, but just the old ones. The ones on which you wake up in the morning, walk to work, tickle with some stupid little things you have to get done, go straight from work to the other place where you work… TO work. Where something pisses you off and when the clock strikes midnight, you start drinking (maintaining your professionality, of course), at some point you close the place up and walk home with the MP3-player in one and a can of cider in the other hand.
There you get 3-4 hours (if you’re lucky, then even 4,5 or even 6! hours) of sleep (sometimes often you have nightmares and wake up several times crying – or you do that without the nightmares), wake up with a mild case of a hangover (because you’re too broke to have gotten anything to eat the past day) and make it to work almost an hour late. But no-one ever complains and it works out just fine. And it starts again every bloody morning.
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That, my friends, is called routine.
