Too fuzzy-headed for a title
Jul. 27th, 2006 04:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thessalianOkay, with just over an hour to go until quitting time (or thereabouts), I can say with all confidence that I'm not going to pass out. Probably. Provided I stay off my feet. Which hasn't exactly been easy today, but never mind. I've been keeping hydrated, I've been having Lucozade, and we even have the air conditioning running (so why, someone please tell me, didn't someone who knew it worked think about turning it on, I don't know, three days earlier?), so I should feel a whole hell of a lot better than I do. I'll just keep telling myself that until it's time to go home.
My bosses are insane. I mean it. Absolutely bugfuck. I came back to work on Monday, right? Ham-Fisted Editor turned up on Tuesday, which I mainly spent typing up minutes to that board meeting they had the other week. Wednesday I spent mainly trying not to throw up and getting the work on my desk organised into identifiable piles so I could deal with it easier. So today was the day I meant to tackle the bulk of the work that HFE left me on Tuesday night. And then, just as I'm getting started, Michael comes up to me and says, "Oh, by the way, there's this big stack of stuff that I didn't know how to deal with that I've been hiding from you. Here; sort this while you're at it". (I paraphrase, a little.)
Let me get this straight. You go through my desk while I'm out, pick up my piles, skew them all out of order so I have to rearrange them all over again, and then drop them back on my desk with accusatory little notes on them, so that I have to rearrange them in their correct order and basically write all over them that they are pending and that I've done what I cold with them? Do the words 'fuck you' mean anything?
And then there's the HFE himself. When I was sorting through his task list, I noticed that some of the cards and the files were missing. Turns out that, when he said, "I'll just leave these out, then, shall I?", what he meant was, "I'll just leave cards out but file these ones in a seemingly random fashion, stick some of the folders back in the filing cabinet and others in random spots in your Out basket and yet others I'll leave strewn around the office, just to confuse you, shall I?" Hence my having been out of my chair more than I'd have liked today. And yet I'm the one worried about losing my job. Doesn't seem fair, does it?
I was supposed to have been going out for pub food tonight (for once), and had actually been kind of looking forward to it, until the fuzzy head and dizziness and complete inability to control my body temperature set in. Now I just want to go home and collapse. Even the new toy holds little appeal - sure, in theory it might be therapeutic to go cast funky spells on unsuspecting yet vicious mutant rabbits, but in practice such activities involve sitting in a chair and mild thinking, both of which are not particularly fun just now. And no, I can't ring in sick because a) there's that whole 'potential accusation of malingering' thing hanging over my head and b) would it really be any better for me in the stifling hot house? One more day. I just keep reminding myself that I only have to get through another hour or so of work and then Friday, and then I can have a weekend. Still, it's three more trips on public transport. I think that's what's doing it, y'know. Anyway, I can hold up one more day. I'm tough. I may whinge, but I'm tough.
My bosses are insane. I mean it. Absolutely bugfuck. I came back to work on Monday, right? Ham-Fisted Editor turned up on Tuesday, which I mainly spent typing up minutes to that board meeting they had the other week. Wednesday I spent mainly trying not to throw up and getting the work on my desk organised into identifiable piles so I could deal with it easier. So today was the day I meant to tackle the bulk of the work that HFE left me on Tuesday night. And then, just as I'm getting started, Michael comes up to me and says, "Oh, by the way, there's this big stack of stuff that I didn't know how to deal with that I've been hiding from you. Here; sort this while you're at it". (I paraphrase, a little.)
Let me get this straight. You go through my desk while I'm out, pick up my piles, skew them all out of order so I have to rearrange them all over again, and then drop them back on my desk with accusatory little notes on them, so that I have to rearrange them in their correct order and basically write all over them that they are pending and that I've done what I cold with them? Do the words 'fuck you' mean anything?
And then there's the HFE himself. When I was sorting through his task list, I noticed that some of the cards and the files were missing. Turns out that, when he said, "I'll just leave these out, then, shall I?", what he meant was, "I'll just leave cards out but file these ones in a seemingly random fashion, stick some of the folders back in the filing cabinet and others in random spots in your Out basket and yet others I'll leave strewn around the office, just to confuse you, shall I?" Hence my having been out of my chair more than I'd have liked today. And yet I'm the one worried about losing my job. Doesn't seem fair, does it?
I was supposed to have been going out for pub food tonight (for once), and had actually been kind of looking forward to it, until the fuzzy head and dizziness and complete inability to control my body temperature set in. Now I just want to go home and collapse. Even the new toy holds little appeal - sure, in theory it might be therapeutic to go cast funky spells on unsuspecting yet vicious mutant rabbits, but in practice such activities involve sitting in a chair and mild thinking, both of which are not particularly fun just now. And no, I can't ring in sick because a) there's that whole 'potential accusation of malingering' thing hanging over my head and b) would it really be any better for me in the stifling hot house? One more day. I just keep reminding myself that I only have to get through another hour or so of work and then Friday, and then I can have a weekend. Still, it's three more trips on public transport. I think that's what's doing it, y'know. Anyway, I can hold up one more day. I'm tough. I may whinge, but I'm tough.
no subject
Date: 2006-07-27 11:03 pm (UTC)