assorted screeds
August 23, 2006
weekly kick in the bloody head day
I am learning to loathe Wednesdays. Each Wednesday, I have a half-hour status meeting with my boss. And each Wednesday, I walk away ready to die from the amount of stuff I get piled onto me. Stuff that isn�t �do it and it�s done and move on� stuff. Stuff that�s �this is another 6 hours a week, forever, that I expect you to pull out of your ass� stuff.
I am not good at the never-ending routine stuff. It stabs me in the soul and makes me long for death. Projects? I love projects. Do �em and move on to the next. But the shit that goes on every day, day after day, ad infinitum, ad nauseum�Arrghh!
And worse yet�the bureaucratic stuff that is A) not productive at all, B) extremely time-consuming, and C) fucking pointless!. There�s the real soul-sucking stuff, right there.
Really�that woman is a born bureaucrat. She�s passionately in love with the whole idea of being organized�she takes notes, schedules meetings, creates files, keeps absurd levels of records, etc. And she wants her staff to do the same. She�s a fascist about it, in fact.
But the thing is? she can afford to spend all her time on that stuff, because she�s an administrator. IT IS HER JOB.
Unfortunately, though, her people have actual work we have to do, so we can�t give 40 a week to filing shit. Especially when we have about 60 hours of actual work, and have to get it done in four and a half days.
if doing the wrong feels bad, why doesn�t doing the right thing feel good?When my eating is out of control, it makes me feel angry and bitter and disgusted with myself. SO--as lousy as I feel when I can�t control my eating habits, and eat the wrong things (and far too much of them)�how come trying to be good doesn�t offer some kind of equal and opposite reaction? When I try to control myself, and deny my addiction its drug of choice, all I feel is angry and bitter and deprived.
Cripes, it's happening again
I've realized that I'm once again spending the majority of my waking hours feeling exhausted and in pretty severe pain. Why can't I just feel fucking normal for five fucking minutes? Not that I'd know normal if it walked up and bit me on the ass--but I'm pretty sure that feeling half dead all the time isn't.
Why is it always up to me to keep a friendship pumped up?
The minute shit starts to happen that keeps me from being a full-time cheerleader for people, they get all pissy and hurt and accuse me of being a lousy friend. These are the same people (and some of them are relatives, I might add)who never call, never email, and never come by for a visit. They never initiate anything. But as soon as I begin to lag in those same areas, i find out just what a lowlife, lousy excuse for a friend I am.
Reading: "Aggie" Days shows no sign of letting up! I'm just finishing "Hallowe'en Party" (Poirot) and will be taking up "Murder With Mirrors" (Marple) next. I've been specializing in the Poirots that feature Ariadne Oliver this time around.
Beading: Sigh. I give up. I started practicing my wrapped loop, even though I don't particularly like wire work. I'm using large, pale yellow faceted rounds, and two sizes of bright yellow Czech fire polish ovals. I suck, so far. But this is just a practice piece, using bargain bin beads, and cheap base-metal wire.
Listening: Book on CD. "Dairy Queen�, by Catherine Gilbert Murdock. I've only been listening to this in the car, so it is taking a while.
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