Singular Scene

So Singular in Each Particular

Small Mercies

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I’m so bored with being pissed off and upset about stuff I can’t change.  Work’s been challenging, you know that, and I’m more than frustrated that I can only really ever change MY reactions to stuff that goes on around me.  Same for any of us really, we do what we can to encourage change, but sometimes the changing of a situation, a policy, an inujustice is just not up to us. 

I’m not ashamed to admit that this really ticks me off that it’s always seems to be me that has to bend… because in any hierachical organisation sometimes we have to have a measure of trust in the leadership that ‘they know best’ and that we, the underlings, must put our heads down and do the work and let the bosses be the boss.

And so I have to deal with my reactions to the things I see from down below that are not the way I want them.  It could be that I’m right but I’m nobody to be saying to my CEO or COO that they’re wrong… that would be suicide, well, career suicide, anyway…  I have occasional opportunity to speak up… but I’m not currently trusting that my thoughts or words carry any kind of weight… which is a shame given that I’m one of the longer serving administrators on the staff. 

So really, spending all this time being pissed off and angry is a bit pointless.  Problem is, pissed off and angry for me usually turns into heartbroken, so I’ve been pissed off, angry and desperately sad.  These are the sorts of feelings I’ve been working through in recent weeks, and I guess given that I’ve been in this environment for close to 10 years some kind of shift and adjustment every couple of years is to be expected.  Nothing is smooth sailing forever, and it’s been 4 years since the last upheaval… So, I’m due.

And no, I’m not leaving until I know the time is right… and I’m convinced that the time isn’t right… when it is, I’ll know…

So,in the middle of all of that upheaval it’s nice to have a small diversion to colour the world a bit pinker… even if it is at the small expense of somebody else…

 

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Oi, Stop Where You Are!

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See, I saw you sneaking off while I wasn’t looking… you thought you could get away with it… heh… I have google analytics baby… I see you…  Not that I blame you, of course.  There’s been precious little to stick around for.  I guess, as this blog is my means of processing the stuff going on in my world you think there’s nothing going on.  Baby, there’s plenty.  I just can’t tell you about it. 

See?  Rude…  what a total tease.

Sorry.  You know the rulz.  No blogging about work.  So you’re stuck with less than nothing.  Because my work world is pretty much filling up every emotional niche in the deeleeaverse.  Not all of them good.  So, there you have it.  My work is making me a sucky blogger.  And rude and attitudinal to boot.

And that’s all I have to say about that.

 

Scratch That

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Would happily trade today for any other given day.  Would be breaking all my rules to talk about any of it except for the reason I’m sporting this rather gruesome addition to my facial features…

It started at 8am with very angry knock on the front door. 

My early caller was Mrs Gerry-Hatrick from the house behind ours.  Now, to preface, Mr Gerry-Hatrick, is the nicest of neighbours you could hope for.  An amputee courtesy of WW2 and hard of hearing due to his age I often see him for a quick chat on my morning jaunts up to the café.  He inquires after me, and the puss chats about the footy and generally is just lovely.  But as is the way of the world sometimes he’s married to a woman who could gently be described as a bit of a fishwife.

Before you go ahead and hate her on my behalf you need to understand that I get why she is the way she is. Clearly she’s been hurt bad somewhere along the line and she’s making everyone else pay… it sucks, it kills everyone she’s around when she’s giving out a tirade like she did this morning, but I do get it.  I don’t hold it against her.

Anyway, she’d got a bee in her bonnet because one the two trash bins put out on the edge of the road for collecting this morning was overfilled, council have very strict policy as regards what they’ll pick up with the automatic trash picker-upper and the offending 5 small bags of trash were left on the berm much to the horror and disgust of Mrs G.  Deciding to take matters in hand she came round, knocked my door down and proceeded to rant and rave at me on my own behalf and as a proxy for my fellow building occupants, even going so far as to call us pigs. Me, a pig.

Thanks very much.

Now, you’re probably wondering what this has to do with a cat scratch on my face…

Well, while she was going off her nut at me she was holding the screen door open and Puss, who I’d gently placed on the top of the dresser out of the way, had caught a sniff of freedom and took it into hear head to make a bolt for it down the front of the dresser (the one that houses all my glassware, no less) in the hope she’d get as far as, and out of, the door. In the process, two of the glasses hit the deck, thankfully staying in one piece but as I grabbed her to prevent the escape I was not so clever as to manage to miss the flailing claws.

Of course, having copped it, both emotionally and physically, I showered, dressed (yes, I’d answered the door in my dressing gown) and I took responsibility for clearing up the rubbish (which amounted to picking up each of the 5 bags and dropping them in the bin) wheeling the bin back to  it’s usual place.  Now, given that for the last few days I’ve been walking past the bins, noticing that one of the bags on the top of the pile was mine (having been raided by the local possum posse) it would stand to reason that one of the bags on the floor would have been that one.

It wasn’t, leading me to belive that the offenders were in the other household adjoining our building rather than one of the residents from upstairs.  Of course, you can’t tell that to a ranty old lady, it’s better just to suck it up and move on.

They said there’d be days like these.

I believe ’em.