So, my birthday resolution to not whine copiously all over the internet lasted under a month, I see. That’s… about a normal length of time for a mortal’s resolution, right?
And after all that whining about Monday, I bet any readers are sitting with a finger over the ‘back’ button, waiting to see if the whining has ceased (and if you aren’t, you really should be). In which case, I have bad news for both of us.
For lo, the fun and games at work continued all week! Witness! The thousand and one urgent things that (probably) can’t be done for Dr Hurricane before her annual leave! Witness! The boss suddenly demanding I don’t do those things and prioritise the Physio’s clinics instead so the stats will be all pretty, despite my being within Mandatory Turnaround Time! (For bonus points, witness the Physio saying, What? God, it’s not urgent). Witness! The patient who phoned at least eight times a day to confirm information, and then phoned a further five times to check I was really okay with her phoning me about it all over again on Friday. (Witness the other patient phonecalls – time was, I got four angry calls a year; now it’s four every single day)!
Also, witness my Colleague of Cakes bursting in on the pretext of carrying flowerpots and giving me a twenty-minute (and rather irate) ‘pep-talk’ on how it’s all my own fault I’m in this mess because I am weak and Backward, and if I didn’t want to be in this mess, I shouldn’t let people push me around and talk down to me, (haha the irony). I debated starting the new leaf she required of me right there and then, but I strongly suspect people react really badly to that sort of thing. I think she is still rather narked that I didn’t have an utter meltdown in front of the boss when she grassed me up to the boss for having an utter meltdown. (That was no time to actually have some pride! she said. I just have no idea what the hell she wants from me, but I have noticed I have to grit my teeth more and more when thanking her for taking some of my workload off me, especially after that.)
Here’s my two cents: we all react to Shouty People in different ways, and my way of reacting to shouty people is to stone-face it till I can get the hell out of there, think it over and then take what I hope is calm and rational action; while her way seems to be to explode right back. I am not saying my way is Righter, but it sure saves on clean-up.
And right now, some calm and rational action seems to be required, oh my yes. Because several times this week I was horribly close to downing tools and just walking out, and I am thanking my lucky stars that I live in a country with gun control, otherwise it would have been far too easy to run a stone-cold bath, call an ambulance, wait for the sound of sirens and then blow my brains out all over the bathroom (wipes clean, and the freshest organs for redeployment you ever saw!) It occurs to me I might be putting too much thought into this, but hey, everyone keeps an escape-route handy, right? (For extra bonus points, this week the answer to the question, Would this course of action really upset anyone? is, Eh, they’d be over it in a week or so; which means I am so far from ‘thinking clearly about anything’ land that it is high time to get me some professional help already.)
Since my boss is currently classified under ‘Hostile’, given ooh, every encounter we’ve had since she arrived, Occy Health were sweet but admitted they could do nothing except assure me I am not the only stress-bunny in the building, and HR could not even be found last time it got this bad, it seemed a visit to my GP was a good place to start. Maybe my GP can suggest things I have not thought of! – and then I can write them down and if I Really start cracking up (as I greatly fear), then I can just run through the list; because by that time, my ability to think of Helpful Things To Do will be nil.
For good measure, I also made an appointment with my dentist, for that hole in my mouth is starting to hurt again and there is no way in hell I want to go back through what I just went through with it, ever; gave Dr Hurricane a formal reply re her complaint about my typos, suggesting it is the workload; gave the boss a formal reply re conflicting priorities; and grassed up the boss to Dr Hurricane and vice versa re their attempts to veto each other’s orders. (They probably won’t have a handbags session in the carpark, leaving me the hell out of it, but a girl can dream).
And I put aside time to go through the jobsites on my lunchbreaks; but there was nothing. And I don’t mean, ‘there were no things I might have a shot at doing for a living without being forced to keep potentially-horrible lodgers, but which look absolutely unrewarding’; there was nothing. Jesus. I have never seen nothing out there. Must be summer or something. I hope.
Alas, the GP I saw last time has moved on. Dammit, I was going to so totally throw myself on his mercy, since he once doctored under Dr Hurricane and was thus prepared to sign me off for the rest of my life as soon as her name came up. But he had a very nice replacement, and while it was embarrassing to have to go in to a complete stranger and be all, So yeah hi, I fear I may be going insane, she was very supportive and didn’t make me feel like the sort of complete spazzock who’s having a hissy over what should be a very low-level, menial and undemanding job. (And I will allow here that I may very well be that spazzock).
Unfortunately, she couldn’t come up with anything to do about it either, except for putting me on meds or signing me off. Being signed off sounds lovely, to be honest, but I am one day away from being one week away from having a week off, and after that the workload should ease up for a month. Touchwood. Let’s wait until we are, er, even nearer the end of the tether. Is that a good plan? Who knows.
Although she did suggest maybe I could get shouty people who stress me out the hell out of my home; ‘it is not good to have to wear the ‘Beshemoth the Scapegoat’ mask all day and then the ‘Beshemoth the
Scapegoat Landlady’ mask all night’, she said, ‘you need time to just be you’. I liked that advice greatly, therefore I will say it is very good advice! – and that is one I am already working on, thank god. You know, after the next lot.
However, where work’s concerned, I felt even more trapped coming out of that one than before I went in. Dammit, this is what comes of pinning all your hopes on some complete stranger being able to pull your arse out of a fire, eh.
I did get a wee CD of stress-relief tips. Although it turns out another colleague of mine has already been given that one. Is it any good? ‘Worth a small giggle’, apparently. Feh. Maybe I will find time to have a wee laugh at it once I have gutted out the studio and cleaned the flat down in preparation for Lodgergate!
It was time to enquire about playing my second-last card: throwing myself on the redeployment list. Dun dun DUN! This is the list of Bad Secretaries, who go through a process similar to the process of being a Bad Doggie who goes to the pound. You get three shots at a new home, and if nobody likes you after a year, you get
put down sent to a lovely farm in the country. Can one ask to go on that list? I asked my Colleague of Skull Scarves. For I had been praying that this alleged admin restructuring would throw me in the typing pool, to bob up like a cork somewhere else, (hopefully, somewhere with none of the current shite, right? Right? Oh god, don’t say this is as good as my life is ever going to get, I could not take it). Alas, word has it the restructuring is dying on its arse. And there was me being the only person looking forward to it, too.
But apparently nobody in the history of forever has ever requested to go on the redeployment list. I get the impression it would be akin to outright asking your boss to send you to a lovely farm in the country. Also, with the admin restructuring coming up, the redeployment list itself may have been redeployed!
Bollocks. Right, that’s all the things I can think of. Maybe it really is time to try out this CD.
But first, Lodgergate!