In common with my actual life, entries will now revert to being boring

All unexpected interludes must come to an end, (the good ones, anyway). And so Tuesday found me up bright and early and eager to get to work before the novelty wore off. Which it did, about half an hour later. Apparently it be Valentine’s Day, meaning me and the Bossman just managed to be apart for both our six-month anniversary and Obligation Day (nsfw).  Splendid timing, not. The weather was grey and drizzly; the Outdoors required thermals; lunch was Speedynoodle – the lovable LIDL rip-off of the more expensive Pot Noodle – rather than mountains of exotic fruit washed down with pancake mix and decent beer. Ah screw it, if I lived in Paradise, I’d only have exactly the same grumpy face as all the commuters I saw there.*

So I only sighed a little bit, worked long and hard to get caught up, and then I went home and ran about working long and hard some more, to the extent that I was wide-eyed awake until three in the sodding morning. Being hardworking seems distinctly overrated; but how else am I gonna get all this stuff done? This way, here I am, unpacked and with all the laundry done and halfway through a massive program of laundering every pillow in the flat** (even with the Tweedles’ mysterious pockling of the pillows, as well as half my teatowels, I still seem to have far too many of each. And no cushion fort!), and having downloaded six programs to unpack me RAW photo files, not one of which works. And very, very grumpy and on-edge. Hard work is overrated, kids. Go build a cushion-fort.

*(Millions of Third World shanty-town dwellers: ‘If’?)

**(This seemed like a really worthwhile enterprise up until I typed it out there.)

By Thursday morning, I was feeling a bit more on top of everything than vice versa. Unusually calm and collected, even, especially for a Hellday. Hmm. In 2011, I felt deeply calm and contented precisely three times, (if we’re not counting, while actively lying in bed, asleep), and every single time, bad news in the way of Extra Work(!) was in the offing within mere hours. Seriously, there is a god. And he doesn’t like people who don’t look busy.

By Thursday lunchtime, therefore, I had been informed by the grapevine that I had missed our first Department Meeting, by being on bossly-approved leave while it was scheduled by the boss. Oh crap, what happened at it?

‘Well, nothing’s changed,’ said one colleague. ‘Our turnaround time is officially halved, there are new protocols for the database and we have to get retrained on everything,’ said another. ‘Which is what I said,’ said the first.

I am never going on holiday again; this always happens.

But the grapevine was not done! Apparently, Dr Hurricane has allegedly had a major falling-out with the person who schedules all her operations. Oh dear. The last time Dr Hurricane had a major falling-out with someone who does admin-y things for her, the upshot was that I got that person’s job as well as my own. And this falling out, alleged though it is, sounds spectacularly similar to the last one.

What do we think is going to happen next?

Beshemoth gets the feck out of secretarying, hopefully! This was the moment at which I suddenly cracked and realised that if I have to spend the rest of my life working like a dog, I would at least prefer it was at something where I felt like I was doing something new, or creative, or at least breaking ground, rather than trundling round the same lap of the Red Queen’s Race every week***. Which I am sure I will turn out to have enjoyed more than I will enjoy hoeing potatoes fourteen hours a day with no weekends in the wasteland that was the Glasgow [so no change there then – Ed] once civilisation has been and gone and taken the plumbing with it.

Which, thinking about it, is even more reason to make my best stab at having a job I actually enjoy, before the end of the world as I know it.

So I immediately went home, passed out asleep, and woke up at three in the morning with chronic insomnia. Goddammit, diurnal rhythm, this is important, stop screwing about.

***(‘Oi!‘: everyone who needs healthcare which depends on me working like a dog).

In summary: changes need to be made! Oh yes indeed! If only I had some clue what they are!


About beshemoth

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