Thursday, June 30, 2005
SmellyColleague seems to be determined to make everyone else's life as miserable as his own ought to be. He is now communicating with us solely via email and message pad, which should be a blessing I know, but only makes for a desperately uncomfortable atmosphere.
He also appears to be using up all his leave, and ThesaurusBoy saw him filling out a Shelter application form.
We are assuming it was a job application form.
But I can't feel too bad about anything, 'cos I've still got Jenny Lewis in my head.
Spectacular Views - Rilo Kiley
Such Great Heights -The Postal Service
Portions For Foxes - Rilo Kiley
It's A Hit - Rilo Kiley
Clark Gable - The Postal Service
We Will Become Silhouettes - The Postal Service
A Man/Me/Then Jim - Rilo Kiley
More Adventurous - Rilo Kiley
Wednesday, June 29, 2005
I have returned to work.
Even worse, the stylish purple cast has been removed and replaced by a beige, old-ladyish support device so that it no longer appears that I might possibly have had a daredevilish skate/snowboarding accident, but only that I am an old lady who maybe tripped over her cat while putting the milk bottles out one night.
Anyway, work wasn't too bad considering (considering I rolled in at ten and out again at four, as I have permission to do for 'a week or so' due to LineManager having been on the training course and everything).
And there wasn't much room in my head for anything other than echoes of the voice of Jenny Lewis and the tremendous noise that is Rilo Kiley. Tim, TheOlderBoy and I being among last night's lucky audience at the Night And Day.
They were very, very good. It was very, very hot. Then very, very wet.
TheOlderBoy caught a drumstick with his eye but was unable to hold on to it.
A Better Son/Daughter
Three Hopeful Thoughts
The Good That Won't Come Out
Portions For Foxes
...Sunlight That Surrounds You...
Does He Love You
It's A Hit
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
He was well meaning but superfluous. Leanne has been keeping me very adequately informed. I probably know more about what's going on than he does.
His call did make me wonder if I might have entered Phase II of sick leave. I don't feel guilty about not being at work anymore. I'm quite happy being at home pottering. Also, it's Wimbledon.
And it's been such a relief to come to terms with the fact that "enjoying the garden" is an end in itself. Dozing in the hammock is what all that digging and soil sifting was in aid of.
Soundtrack: Clare Balding flirting with Kim Clijsters
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
'Not indispensible' shock!
Despite not being allowed to go to work, I went to work today.
I learned that sometimes, eventually, it turns out that the job might be worth doing.
I feel better for knowing that my phone wasn't in meltdown with unreturned calls and my desk wasn't groaning under the weight of pink message slips and unanswered mail. My team was running itself quite capably. The Office hadn't ground to a halt. In fact, nobody seemed to have missed me at all.
However, Someone had been messing about with my settings, which is a bud that needs nipping immediately I can tell you. I almost left a strongly worded post-it, then couldn't be arsed.
It has become clear that I need a schedule. I need to achieve something positive in the next two weeks. I need to take a deep breath, come to terms with being classed as 'long-term sick', stop feeling guilty and start feeling motivated.
But first, the sun's coming out and there's a hammock in the garden ... so, I'll do a list tomorrow. Or at least write myself a strongly worded post-it.
King Horse - Elvis Costello
Stranger By The Minute - Porcupine Tree
Goodbye Star - Lorien
We're All Light - XTC
Finest Worksong - REM
The Girl Who Waves At Trains - The Lilac Time
Dusty - Astrid
Billed As Single - Reindeer Section
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
And You May Ask Yourself.. Well...How Did I Get Here?
Today was the day for the removal of the stylish purple cast. Today they were going to discover that I'd only had a sprain after all, and everything would be alright and I would be able to wash my hair properly again and go back to work and all that stuff.
LineManager had informed my that there was some sort of 'discrepancy' regarding my sick note. I would need to get a new one to cover today. Only today. That's all I needed because, today, they were going to discover it was only a sprain and everything would be alright and I would be able to wash my hair properly again and go back to work and all that stuff.
I explained the sick note scenario to the
I rang LineManager. He put me on hold. He spoke to some people upstairs. They said it wasn't up to me, and I wasn't allowed to go back to work unless I got the note changed. For Health & Safety Reasons. I rang the hospital. I can't get the note changed without seeing the Doctor.
The Doctor's next clinic is .... in two weeks. Bugger.
The Last Polka
Where's Summer B?
Song For The Dumped
Bitches Ain't Shit
Sunday, June 12, 2005
GOAT Extra - Bitches Ain't Shit
I may or may not have professed my deep love of Mr Ben Folds previously, I can't remember, and if I have I don't care. It bears repeating.
We were treated to over two hours of melody, piano hammering, cussing and being the trumpets on 'Army'. Only disappointment being he didn't do 'Alice Childress', which is probably my number one Ben Folds song, if I have to choose. Luckily, despite some delusional soul behind me shouting for it, he didn't do 'Fired' either. Definitely my least favourite.
We also learned that : "Bitches can't hang with the streets". A beautiful singalong moment, illuminated by the light of a thousand camera phones.
We were an impeccably behaved audience (apart from the camera phones - am I being overly puritanical? Or are they annoying as hell?) No concert rage here....
And I coordinated nicely with the surroundings. (The cast comes off on Tuesday).
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
Our pilot announces himself as captain alan smith. It’s good to know our hero has found time, while warming the bench of the evil empire, to learn a respectable trade. Good luck to him.
Below, the lights of rome are receding, the seatbelt light is off and the jukebox is on. My eyes are closing, my head nodding, soon there may be some drool …
In my dream, there is a narrow, humpback bridge at the bottom of a hill. The track is white and dusty, it is almost five o’clock and the temperature is in the high eighties. We are ten minutes away from our hotel, it is the last day of the holiday. As I reach the bridge I can see it is quite badly potholed and I will need to take evasive action. As I do, a blue fiat appears alongside me. Time stops. Time starts, but moves very, v e r y s l o w l y. Badly drawn boy is singing: ‘soleil, all over me…warm sun…’. The blue fiat, the heat, the gravel surface of the track and the pain in my shoulder and wrist are inextricably linked.
I wake up and there is some drool. Badly drawn boy is still singing.
Sorry about the one-handed typing. The cast will be on for a couple of weeks at least.
Labels: real life