everyone is spoiling for a fight, it seems

Despite the stupidest (and most embarrassing) injury ever being four days old, my leg is still looking the same – sure, that’s a big improvement on, ‘leg looking worse’, or, ‘leg seems infected’, but still. You would think there would be some attempt at the formation of new skin by now. Le sigh. Clearly, my healing powers are as fatigued as the rest of me feels.

Today’s work-based, phone-based chaos was broken up by a call on my mobile, from a man who wants to sell me an exciting investment opportunity in a blue-chip natural gas concern. Sheesh. You can tell my heart’s not in it today – usually I try to be polite and explain gently that I am not in the market for their wares without making them feel like a div for even trying, but this guy kept pushing it. And massively cocky, as well as frankly patronising, he was too – in fact, he was firing out buzz-phrases so hard I was having difficulty scrawling em all down fast enough to save them for posterity. “Obviously, I wouldn’t want to ask you to overturn your current investment strategy” – yeah right, my current investment strategy consists of trying to keep me bleedin’ mortgage payments afloat and still have enough for a decent cordless drill!

Eventually I gave in to the sense of the surreal and actually said, Dude, I am an NHS secretary, what the hell kinda investment do you expect me to be able to make? (And even then, I forebore to say, Twenty percent return on investment by Christmas? That’s not a “blue-chip company”, it’s the other side of the rainbow! Pull the other one mate, it’s got sleigh-bells on! Etc.)

So you’re saying you don’t even have two grand? he responded, rather huffily (probably from having wasted his best buzzwords on a prole. Though he does not know I intend to memorise them and see how many I can slip into casual conversation, all in the one day).

I do not even have the readies for a new washing machine right now- I said, but he had slammed the phone down.

My, people are so rude.

Speaking of which, I notice my Colleague I Suspect Is Up To Something has now dropped any pretence of speaking to me – instead, she comes through to speak to my new Cellmate and merely gestures at me imperiously to hand over my flask full of hot water so she can make off with half of it. I am glad for her not talking to me – sadly, even while typing furiously, I can still hear her talking. Today, she came in and waxed lyrical on the subject of Dr Hurricane.

Now, I used to work for Dr Hurricane and a bloody nightmare to work for she is too, and my new Cellmate used to work for Dr Hurricane and was apparently reduced to tears on more than one occasion, and I had great sympathy for my Colleague I Suspect Is Up To Something when she took up the post, really (because I had a choice of which consultant to drop on her, and I am not gonna pass up an opportunity like that), and swore in my heart I would provide what aid I could. As recompense if nothing else (though it was Dr Hurricane or the door, for her). However, Dr Hurricane stopped treating me like a serf when I stopped working for her, while my Colleague I Suspect Is Up To Something still treats me like one even though I have never worked for her. And we are of the same rank (somewhere below the printers, admittedly).

My Colleague I Suspect Is Up To Something also chose today to rant about how she will never forgive someone once she has been Crossed, and will follow them to the ends of the earth to take revenge, yeah verily, even unto the grave, (she didn’t say it quite as well as that), and she would shoot Dr Hurricane if only she had a gun, and batter her with her fists, why not. Come on then! she kept shouting (in my direction). Come on then, whatcha gonna do? Are you gonna fight me, is that it?

To my astonishment, I suddenly find myself rooting firmly for Dr Hurricane in this one. I cannot wait till my Colleague I Suspect Is Up To Something gets to the part of her plan where HR calls me up under oath to say whether Dr Hurricane ever said she was useless in my hearing, and I have to repeat all that. It was actually really difficult – she says hypocritically – not to get out of my chair and smite her mightily; partly because having someone standing between me and the door, apparently shouting at me, that she wants a fist-fight is difficult for Monkey Brain not to respond to inappropriately, and partly for my own protection before she gets any ideas about me ‘crossing’ her. For instance, by failing to provide hot water on demand.

(Although I do suspect that my Colleague I Suspect Is Up To Something does not take her revenge as seriously as she claims, because as far as I can tell Crossing her also includes infractions such as ‘talking about one’s children’ and she’d have a to-kill list the size of the phonebook).

Yes, I am rather fractious myself this week, I think it’s the pain. Nah, it’s just her.

Today, at least, she was out of luck with the hot water, for the Imperial Legions are having a Crackdown on contraband (which I thought would mean, Hide The Kettle, I mean, if we had one, which obviously we don’t, for we are happy serfs who do what we’re told, but also means, And The Flask, And the Mugs, And the Cutlery, And the Radio, and the Wipes, and The Water Bottle). I am also fractious because I am gradually dehydrating to death, while the skinless areas of me continue to ooze worrying amounts of ooze. Which is at least clear, and not green or anything.

I was so demoralised by today I didn’t even bothering trying to go to the fighting tonight. Instead, I siphoned off rest of rosehip wine, and made cranberry and choc-chip muffins. Goddamn my life is so… domesticated. I wanna be out doing exciting, adventurous things! Well, I would also like to have my leg in working order first, but still.

In lieu of this, as seems so often the case these days, I went home and moved furniture in the spare spare room and scrubbed the carpet edges, thus making it the last room to get a makeover. This flat has not been so clean since Diesel came and helped me clean it, lo these many years ago.

I think perhaps my life needs more masculine energy at the moment. Ideally, this would take the form of a hot blond bloke to come look after me in my time of Ow, but I would settle for being able to do something suitably kick-arse myself. Le sigh.


About beshemoth

Mainly making art, making wine, writing and gardening. Having a life only as the above allows.
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