Item – My mother was in very good spirits yesterday, and the house was full of random male friends of my sisters, so no, we did not discuss lady-parts, borkedness thereof. I shall have to phone her. The good spirits and liveliness boded well, though. Whatever it was, it went. Fingers crossed. (My mother’s health makes me completely neurotic. She survived cancer twelve years ago, so, naturally, every time she feels the slightest bit run down or inexplicably pained, I freak. Quietly. At home. So as not to upset my mother).
Item – My insides are being an almighty pain too, eheu. I am still getting aches and cramps and sore bruisedness in the generally uterine area, and it’s CD13, FFS. This has been going on for the past four? five? cycles, and I Don’t Care For It. Also, the whole thing is screwing with my bladder, which declines to empty completely in one go these days. I keep having to go back 15 minutes later and, eh, continue. Nerve damage caused by severe pain (happens to ladies with endometriosis, you see)? Pressure of Cute Ute, now Enlarged Distorted Hideous Bloater Ute? Actual endometriosis on bladder (whyever not? Trifecta!)? Anyway, it’s a glorious recipe for a UTI (I don’t think I have a UTI. Yet), so I am drinking water by the gallon and popping cranberry pills, on the off-chance they work. Also, cursing the gods, swearing like a navvy, and trying to remember who the patron saint of bladders is*.
Item – I hate my job at the moment. More specifically, I hate:
- People who throw shrieking hysterical fits before ascertaining all the facts, ie, the first person they shrieked at knew nothing of the matter (that would be me) and the second person they shrieked at didn’t actually cock anything up at all and the Wrong End Of The Stick has been hastily and offensively grasped. The atmosphere, with a knife you could’ve sliced it.
- People who persist in having hysterics when they are gently corrected on the above and spend the next hour wailing about their back, teeth, rent, hair-cut, parents, and stress-levels, all of which are Caused By Beelzebub and Worse Than Everyone Else’s (I could do said person’s job under heavy bombardment while locked in an unlit disused lavatory with only a pencil stub and a loo-roll to keep stats on. Just saying).
- People who do the above in my office, next to my desk, when I’m trying to catalogue Victorian books on the history of medieval cookery. And then try to emotionally blackmail me into sorting the Ends of the Sticks out, because, you know, the stress.
- People like me being soft as effing marshmallows and doing just that despite the fact it makes them really late leaving the office. Talk about rewarding bad behaviour.
- People who sit on their hands moaning about the vast quantity of work that has suddenly come in, what with it being the beginning of exams, while everyone else frantically tries to to stop landslide of Stuff To Do from burying the help desk.
- People who tell me I’m making them do too much work, but see previous point.
- People who treat numerical and alphabetical order as optional extras when shelving.
- People who do the above and yet still get paid more than me.
Item – I am so bored of being grouchy. How does one stop?
*There isn’t one. Nor can I find one for menstrual problems. Infertility and miscarriage, yes (Catherine of Siena). Also, servants who break their master’s possessions, lost keys, procrastination, nettle rash and mice. Dysmenorrhea? You’re on your own, love.