Today’s motivation score: two out of ten. What a difference a day makes…
Sure and wasn’t it a lovely sunny morning, this morning? I got up early and sat gazing at the fiery sunrise, thinking how this cloudless blue sky means that the big white wall across from my window will be like unto a magnifying glass over an ant. Accordingly, I wore me favourite sniper cap and wraparound shades into work, and will thus look, well, bolshy as all get-out: but it’s that or go gradually blind. See, here is the Boss, telling us we have to be proactive and creative and come up with solutions to problems at work, and when we say, No, X won’t work, but tell you what, how about Y? We have checked it out and we reckon this will work… she stamps her foot (not quite literally) and says, Do as I say. And lo, the Boss has demanded we be productive and creative and come up with solutions to problems – but we are not even allowed to arrange our own office furniture, thus she has Decreed that my desk will be turned to the window, ‘because it makes the room look nice’ and my monitor screen will be a mere silhouette against the glare out there. And I will be blind by Christmas.
So: brilliant freethinkers or battery-farmed Borg? You have to pick one, Boss.
Maybe we should just go with nodding and smiling and ignoring everything. Seems to work for my Colleague I Suspect Is Up To Something.
Unfortunately, my rather more beloved colleagues explained to the Boss why I wanted the desk turned back the way it was when I moved in. Her response: ‘I can’t control the weather, what do you people WANT from me?!’
I cannot believe we are having this furore over a desk. My desk. That I have to sit at for forty hours a week. Feck it, I can’t sit in a sniper hat and wraparounds till the tail-end of October; we have to shift it back. Also, I have a moderate problem with sitting with my back to a door and have had three near-heart-attacks already when people wandered in. I will be institutionalised by Christmas.
Maybe, it’s what she wants. Her face yesterday when my colleagues cheerfully (and somewhat lavishly) assured her that my IT qualifications are fantastic, was quite a picture. Of dismay. And annoyance. Crap. What the hell is it I do that puts people’s backs up?
She’s back in tomorrow. I am going to put my hair in a bun and nod and smile and make vague but positive noises and wait till she goes away again.
In the meantime: pro-activity! I went forth on my break and I blew my remaining money for the month on the factors’ bill and a Flask for the office so I can has caffeine (as long as I can beg hot water off someone) and spare keys and sealant for the bath and a new smoke alarm. Hey big spender, and all that. And I debated going to the fighting – sod it, I brought all my stuff – but it occurred to me that the week of no flatmate is fast running out here, and although it has been sunny – at intervals – it has been terrifically windy also. Not to mention, wet. What if, the day I go to seal round the bath, she comes home early, all frazzled and wanting a shower and I have to explain that she isn’t to have one? So maybe tonight would be a good night. There ain’t gonna be a better one, after all.
And so, I hauled all my gear back home again, and I spent a sober, sensible evening sealing the bath and fitting the smoke alarm and making chocolate chip muffins, which now live in a Muffin Bin in the freezer. Wow. I love the smell of sealant, it’s like industrial strength prawn cocktail crisps (which does raise rather a lot of questions about the ingredients in one of my major favourite snacks), but I hate the way it goes on your hands and I suck at getting a ncie, straight line. This time, however, luck was with me – I found some masking tape, and some latex gloves. Sweet as! But dear god, that antifungal stuff nips your eyes, and the bathroom window kept falling shut, no matter how I propped it open with that back-scrubbing brush I never use because it’s propping the window open. Heh.
There was no fighting tonight, it turned out – the Pope’s visit has kyboshed that one, along with almost every activity within walking distance of my flat. The Husband of Lovely Hats has had to take the day off work, the bollards around their area have actually been torn up and the cul-de-sacs de-cul-de-sac’d, for otherwise so many roads will be cordoned off that nobody will be able to leave the vicinity, and meals on wheels are off. Whoa! Well, I suppose lots of Catholics will at least be made very happy by all this; just not any of the ones I‘ve heard on about the visit, who think he’s a bloody pain in the arse and apparently there was this other guy who woulda been amazing at the job, only he died. Thanks, God, what are you trying to do here?
Well, as papal infringements on my life go, it is rather a minor one. Still, woulda felt a complete berk if I hadn’t been a lazy bastard tonight, sitting on the doorstep of a locked building, six miles out of my way, so it just goes to show, er, something!
And I still had all me tonic water to drink! What is this? Some sort of voluntary New Leaf?