Hmm. From my ear, the lurgy has spread to my jaw, which is having about as much ease in opening and shutting as an extremely rusty mantrap, oh do I ever wish I had not made that comparison now, hahaha, and which makes one helluva crunch when I try to shut me mouth. [Poetic justice if ever there was any – Ed]. And from there, it has spread into my wisdom tooth. Which spent all night doing the dance of the electrified tooth and, as a result, so did I. Ooh decisions, decisions, who do I call first, a bunch of enthusiastic amateur dentists, or the mortgage company? Either way, it’s looking grim!
You gotta laugh though. Having just decided that freedom is worth the lack of financial security as long as I’m careful, the list of things wot imminently need wads of cash thrown at em now include: the hoover; the washing machine; the pension payments (up fifty percent if I want to survive my old age? Dude, at that amount, I won’t survive to my old age!), the protection racket, whoops, scaffolding bill; the mortgage, and moi. Wow. I mean, I fully expected a couple of such crises to happen once I decided to get out from under – but six? Dammit, it’s only been a fortnight!
Well, universe, if it’s going to be like that… I mean, I’m not gonna live forever, the house of cards must crumble sometime. And I ain’t gonna live in fear of you, either, so now is as good a time as any. Yeah right, watch me run like a coward and sue for peace. Against impersonal forces; I have no hope in hell.
Uncle. There. Can we haz truce plz?
And lo, the mortgage rate might be okay, hurrah. One down! As long as the government… yeah. But other wheels are in motion. So, there might be some extra money coming in, in which case I’ll break even and be Fine – and there might not, in which case I’ll be Fecked. This is so much more exciting than putting a line on the lottery!
And on with the overtime. Tonight, I ran out of ordering-things slots and had to go file some myself. Alack and misery me, I had hoped to avoid having to personally go over to the Spider Place!
For so it is called. No, really, by Real people and everything. As in, ‘feck, me granddaughter needs babysat on Monday morning due to the in-service. To get the hours, I’ll have to spend Saturday morning in the Spider Place! Pass me filing 60-69, dude.’
I don’t mind the spiders; it’s the dirt, the dust, the air of isolation, being alone at the very end of a mostly-abandoned dank brick building, the sudden gurgly noises in the pipes, the creaking which sounds like the half-arsed tiptoeing of a psycho who has been lurking in the dark, waiting for some poor unfortunate spod working after hours to come in and be Alone At Their Mercy…
and I could deal with all of that if it weren’t for the file racks being on wheels. Lo, you can turn a handle and move them sideways until they’re flat against each other, and anyone standing in that aisle will be trapped and crushed to death. Slowly. (And has the Boss clarified my overtime status yet? No! I might die… for free! AUGH!)
Or, you know, possibly not; but my claustrophobia is getting worse as I get older and I do not like the thought of someone deciding to kill me in such a fashion while I’m doing extra hours. That would really suck.
Still, this needs done. I went in, lights on, radio on, get stuck in. Man, if anyone else comes along while I am in here, I will die of fright.
Someone else did come along, and she nearly died of fright when I said hello.
Ah it will be good to have someone else here! I said, once we had both recovered. I know it’s ridiculous, but I keep worrying someone will crush me between the racks!
Oh, that happened to a lassie just last week, she said cheerfully, You should have heard her screaming!
Now I have to worry, not only that this lassie will turn out to be a gloating psycho who waits until you’re deep in both the only open aisle and confusion about why file 9945682 is not where it should be and then gives the wheel a spin, but that you yourself might be deep in confusion looking for file 3249317 and absent-mindedly decide to open some more aisles when she’s in the open one…
You know what, screw this. Is anyone else, either in my department or in Eyes, in either this hospital or the rival one, doing any of this filing? Nope! Well, not apart from my Colleague of Cakes, that Saturday morning. Everything else to get rid of this whole crate of paperwork has been done by me. So I shall do it at my own pace, from my goddamn desk.
Which sentiment probably raises the probability of my being ‘hilariously’ murdered while doing overtime at my desk, leading forensics to say sorrowfully, If only she had been in the Spider Place, she coulda crushed the psycho between the racks. A thermos is just not an effective weapon.
Nuts to it. If it happens, it happens. Hometime! Belatedly.
Hmm, I’m going to Germany on Monday (assuming no mishaps). Do I have euros? Travel shampoo? Any idea where the damn hotel is? Nope! Right, time to get organised!
So I spent an exciting evening going through the admin pile, looking for a clue as to the name of the hotel. And indeed, Christ, where IS that ticket, it is the reason for this whole damn stupid escapade, I know exactly where I put it, and it is Not There.
Eventually, it turned up. Inside the one remaining bit of paper it could possibly be in (or be gone forever). Holy jeebus, that was far too exciting.
For all this excitement, the lurgy is leaving me feeling quite dispirited, what! It is something of an Achievement to still not be in bed at ten o’clock…