"But it's a Friday!" ... Not!

Fridays are usually the busiest work day of the week for me. and usually the day I almost always work late. They are almost as bad as Sundays (which I very rarely enjoy because they are never the day I rest and relax)

As I work for a company that makes me submit a timesheet on Fridays by 9am... I have to guess what work I plan to do on a Friday. Invariably the work I actually accomplish on Fridays almost certainly never follows what my timesheet promises.

And so Fridays contain all the promised Friday activities of my time sheet as well as all the unforeseen Friday activities that pop up (anyone for a rude letter that needs a sweet response that boils down to "Don't be dum!"?) and then all the things that need to be ready for the next week that got forgotten during the course of this week ("so you checked that the lists didn't contain anything extraneous... Did you check that everything required on the list has not been omitted?").

Even better is requesting someone respond by Monday on a query and they reply on Friday afternoon with a request to extend the deadline - now how do I get approval for the extension before the due date actually passes?!

And so hence I am still at work after 6pm on this Friday. Funny enough there is always two waves of heavy traffic on the way home. The first on starts at 4:30 pm and abates at 5:30pm for all the clock watchers and normal people. The second one starts after 6pm and goes almost to 7pm for the workaholics. The secret to happiness in traffic is managing to leave work in between these two groups.

So the next time some one asks me at 4pm on a Friday why I am still chained to my desk instead of going home, with the line "But it's a Friday..." My response is "Exactly my point!"

I am practicing my shooeing people away tone of hand waving for the very next occasion.

Mobile Blogging again

So the desert or posts should be over now that I have got my mobile
blogging set up again (I hope...)

I did a bad thing last week. I know it was a bad thing because I am
still thinking about it.

A little background first. I went to an All Girls school. In my
experience, as girls go through puberty they go through a highly
competative streak. It is something to do with feeling completely
awkward as you transition from being a girl to a grown up that makes
girls so mean. Mean in the sense that they can make peace with their
own funny feelings by making others feel more awkward.

Pity the fools whose parents haven't got them shaving at 12 years old
yet. Pity the fool who still uses any vaguely childish terms. Pity the
fool who accidentally shows a slightly unrefined eating habit (I once
took out my dental plate in front of my friends at lunch... Oh the
horror.) Pity the fool whose hair sticks at a funny angle. Pity the
fool who makes a funny body noise (I once sneezed three times in a
row... Oh the horror!!)

We won't even get into civvies day fashion, I am still traumatised.

So aside from the great sisterhood of being schooled with hundreds of
other strong empowered motivated women... I took a lot of verbal abuse
at school. And as a result, I am extremely sensitive of being talked
down to like a fool. Sensitive to a fault...

So back to my story, (co-incidentally but probably unrelatedly
involving someone I was at school with) ... We had a little feedback
session at work where the big man in the coushy office at the end of
the corridor gives all the staff a motivational speech about how well
he wants the company to do over the next 5 years. And so in
preparation, the patio was swept clean and tidy and the tables all
wiped and shiney-made.

As the talk was to take place in the afternoon, My work colleague and
I went out to grab some lunch and I made the ill choice of a chicken
and mushroom pie... (it is as delicious as the pie crust is messy)

So we went and joined some of the rest of the department on the
aformentioned patio where I realised that my deliciously crumbly was
at risk of getting me shot by the lady who had swept it clean. So as
delicately as possible I politely ravaged my chicken and mushroom
carb-delight over its pie tin and packet.... All much to the
tredipation and subtle disdain of the colleagues (including
aformentioned school aquaintance)

Then the horror happened... A piece of mushroom sauce-d up chicken
fell out of the dish onto the table (GAAASSSPPPP NOOOO!!) To which Her
response was (in a gloriously high mountain to deep valley crushingly
condescending tone) "Fraa-aaa-aannn" *cluck* *sigh* *siii-iiggh*
(emphasis added for dramatic effect)

I saw the big red dots in my eyes and I might as well have heard
"Fran, you are a disappointment to your name, your family, this
company, the country and the entire multiverse. You are a pathetic
worm of a pie eater. Could you have not done better?" This isn't truly
what I heard but I am overly sensitive.

Anyway, despite my boiling rage, I pulled out a napkin and removed the
offending piece of protein and it's resulting sauce splot... And
replied with "Sarah(not her real name), are you practicing your Mommy
voice on me."

Sarah: DEATHLY SILENCE
Fran: awkward laugh

The meal resumed after that (I ate the rest of my pie with my yoghurt
spoon - the yoghurt tasted odd after...) and Sarah left very shortly
after that and hasn't spoken to me since....

I wonder if she's hacked off with my sharp reply...

bad case of the apathetics

I don't know what has got into me lately but I am so not in the mood for anything really. I come home from work everyday with aching back legs and arms and usually a head ache and I am finding it really hard to get excited about planning to do anything after work.


I am embarrassed to admit that I even struggle to generate enthusiasm to see Mr Thursday. I really hope it's not personal. I catch myself longing after days of the past. Spending time with people or not with people under social circumstances that no longer exist. (people get married, get girlfriends, get engaged, get emigrated, get in a huff.... and all leave the social circle)

I seem to just remember the idyllic parts of the past and none of the parts how it was boring or tiresome or a waste of my time and money... but was it really?

Was it really so bad being a lone ranger and trawling the malls by myself, wandering the book stores and CD shops? watching movies on my own with my packet of whispers and small cola?

It feels almost like by head wants to be discontent all the time.

It's like so terribly emo. I do love the colour grey... hmmm... but not the red and black pirate stripes - far too fashionable for me.