I HATE phone calls. I don’t just find them inconvenient or stressful (though both are true too), I loathe them. For better or worse phones calls almost never yield good news for me, and not just because I somehow always end up with a person with really thick accent on the other end of the line. Yes I am bilingual. No, that is of no help if I need to hear the voicemail you left me twice and still be uncertain about a key point of it. Also, who the dickens rattles off a phone number in lightning speed and does not even bother to repeat it more slowly. Oh, and douche coworker, I could hear you giggling over the line. You think your English is clearer, fucking. Man. The. Phones. Anyway, it would seem that I need to compose a very long and very tense (read passive aggressive bordering to aggressive aggressive) e-mail to the lumps of carbon responsible or my high blood pressure these past few months and see if I can’t get this mess sorted finally. And this friends, is why all my good mood from the past few days (I’m nearly not sick anymore, yay!) plus the endorphins from my earlier swimming session went up in figurative flames.
On the bright side (and mum, if you’re reading this put the Holy Water down, we were mostly joking) this also the sort of situation on which friendships are built. Basically I was ranting to a friend about the whole mess, pretty much prefacing it with “fancy helping me curse someone?” There are few things quite as comforting as an answer of “who?” rather than “what?” or “why?” for this sort of question. I mean yeah, we are planning of talking the ears of everyone slightly relevant to the recruitment process as soon as we clear the pre-employment stage because frankly this whole song and dance started in August and I know for a fact that not nearly enough has happened to me in the past five years to justify a background check still going on. I’m not even kidding! If I wasn’t losing sleep over high school finals or uni, then I was at my parents’ pretty much catching up on sleep, sun and homemade meals. I don’t have a criminal record (obviously) so what in the name of Elizabeth Bennett’s mud-stained petticoat is taking them so frigging long? Everything we’ve been able to find online suggests that it’s a company issue, that they are just that disorganised. But then again that raises another very serious question. If it’s widely known that they are that bad at their job then why would anyone hire them? Mr. Trickster is having a laugh on my behalf methinks, but I am too stubborn to just no do anything about it. Besides, if I learnt one think in public school is how to loudly complain about things happening that I don’t like.
And with that I shall be off. I have an angry e-mail to write and a story about an inept Russian prince being saved by his girlfriend to continue. Toodles!
And she doesn’t even have the “no internet” excuse! You’d think that being out of uni would allow me to post more often. Not! Sweet, sweet apathy has ensured that I am in zero mood to write (or do much of anything other than crave desserts…) As I was telling/whining to a friend a few days ago, I do not know how to function with no schedule! Give me a high panic situation and I will deliver. Give me more than three slow days in a row and you are killing me! Add to that my room being criminally cold and the heating on the house central and at the tender mercies of my landlord and I’m sure you ca imagine how well things are going.
But, you say, you’re out of uni! Shouldn’t you be working and being a serious adult and all that? I WISH! No, seriously, there’s few things I want more right now than to have to wake up with the sun and go to work. Unfortunately this will not be possible for an undetermined amount of time. Key and hated word being “undetermined”. The backchecks for my new job are taking about as long as the solar system took to form. Not only that, but the nice people in charge of the process do not feel it necessary to grace us with some sort of progress report or at least a countdown to the next phase. Meaning that I can do next to nothing, seeing as they could e-mail me tomorrow, or they could e-mail me in a month (and that’s an optimistic outlook from what I’m reading on the forums). Out of the window go therefore any and all potential temp jobs since I very much doubt anyone hires you with the adage of “may quit whenever she fancies”. So long-term projects are a no-go, short term projects are too many to pick one and I’m left kind of laying in bed, overwhelmed by everything.
And it doesn’t help that I am constantly cold. Bit hard to find motivation when you’re constantly shivering. So yeah, do excuse my absence. Believe me, it’s not cause I’m having fun….
Filling out forms. Have you ever noticed how scary these things are? Passive aggressive language, legal jargon, pretty big consequences if you make a mistake, (in my case) tight submission deadlines….-shudder- It’s an anxiety attack waiting to happen. Of course all this not-so-internalised drama could be just me craving chips and being too busy to pop by the kitchen and heat some on the microwave… Or me being new to the whole “adult” scene (which is rather sad coming from a freshly-minted 23-year old…).
Regardless! Remember how I used to moan and gripe about my dissertation? I’d like to humbly apologise for that. Compare to my day today, the dissertation is more than relaxing, it’s soothing! And I am at the re-drafting stage! Also affectionately called the bizarro stage where I need to be my own hardest critic if I’m to get any editing done BUT I also need to be my number one fan in order to not convince myself that my baby isn’t going anywhere. Still! With this fine gentleman as my main topic it’s so worth it!
Alright, hold your horses, I’m not just doing Marvel Comics, I do have a degree in Viking (and other stuff) studies to prove my competence on. But modern adaptations play an important role to the overall result.
I’ve also discovered that I can make some damn fine connections and arguments between midnight and 4, dosed up on coffee and chewing dried prunes. If your stomach just rolled a little at the prospect, good! Your lifestyle is probably much healthier than mine. I don’t get it. I’m not a night owl, not by choice. There was this one very memorable instance when I was awake for close to 48 hours, but it was a special case. Maybe my mind goes to sleep and I write whatever my subconscious fancies? It would certainly explain some of my more bizarre grammar choices. Apparently I don’t like the definite article when I’m sleepy. Go figure.
Anyway, I am seriously getting hungry for those cheeps now, so I’ll leave y’all to your own devices.