… in the context of taking a screenshot …
… in the subcontext of micromanagement because they don’t believe that people who used to run newsrooms, departments or companies could possibly see a stupid task through to completion …
… One more fucking time …
I’m gonna show folks the real context of that word.
CIRCUMCISION.
Well. Two frogs. Let’s be clear about that from the outset.
I’ve been driving myself batshit for a week. Listing two sets of pros and cons. The list is absolutely equal.
Nothing stands out that’s great. The rest is shit soufflé vs. shit on a croissant. I wonder if the coin-flip result will simply come from my need to cut carbs.
I deserve to be blessed with choices. That’s the upshot. Unfortunately, someone’s gonna get hurt. And I am 100% aware that that person is me.
If I pick prince #1, do I murder him on sight in a week? Or if I pick prince #2, the lesser-known evil but stlll evil and maybe even more so, would I die a thousand deaths because my first pick won’t take me back?
I know life is all about choices. I just don’t see giving up a good thing unless it’s for a great thing. But nothing lasts forever. Least of all happiness.
Send prince-picking vibes today, if you’re so inclined. I want a good date this weekend.
There’s someone here who has had it out for me from day one.
Or maybe not. I don’t really know. Maybe they just didn’t like me or care that I’m alive.
Either way, really. Doesn’t matter to me.
But …
Instead of things I do or don’t say getting back to this person, the opposite happened.
This person told a whole bunch of people that “(Goddess) could run that (massive entanglement of ongoing insanity) blindfolded.”
Duuuuude.
I know I’ll never hear it directly from this person. But that’s OK. Just knowing they think it is reward enough.
Red Foreman ain’t got nothing on this pissed-off Disney princess.
At this point, I’m hanging around for the entertainment value.
If anyone isn’t getting the reference, it’s how the Internet imagines cats counting their days of being with their hoomins. I’m not actually captive unless you’re looking at it through the Stockholm syndrome lens.
In any event, today I drove my happy ass up to my captor. (It’s Sunday.) The building is locked. No security badge can help you today. I went to every door. Nothing. Damn it.
Heck. I made it two months without having to work a weekend. I still win. Got my momma some cake from our favorite Italian market and a burger from her favorite place.
Only took three hours round-trip, and now I’m working at home like I should have done in the first damn place.
But yeah. Someone should have great fun reviewing the security footage with all my choice words shouted at the building.
I was at my favorite office yesterday to pick up the mail. They have paid for it to stand empty for three months now. And all one needs is a key to get in and out. If only there were still internet, a PC and a desk there for me, I wouldn’t be measuring my days.
I call them the IMs of Doom. The ones that prompt an in-person phone call or meeting.
Why these people insist on using IM to CIRCUMVENT the technology remains beyond me.
I especially abhor the ones that fetch me. Like a friggin’ puppy summoned for the anti-treat. You, peasant, get on your busted foot and come for your lashing.
I guess it beats the “Can I call ya?” Ya doesn’t like the phone, either. Excuse me while I go hobble to the coffee pot and pretend I didn’t see it.
Probably everyone knows when I’m asked if I have a moment to chat. I don’t even muffle the reflexive “Jesus Christ!” anymore. Maybe I never did. Ask me whatever you want to ask me and save me the trip, please.
In any event, I got one late yesterday and had my quick mental meltdown. Stomped my way to wherever I needed to be … and actually had a pleasant time.
Weird.
Maybe there’s hope yet for this unnecessary experiment after all.
“Try a thing you haven’t done three times. Once, to get over the fear of doing it. Twice, to learn how to do it. And a third time to figure out whether you like it or not.”
— Virgil Thomson, American composer and critic
Pretty sure I know how I feel going into Day 60. But hey, a virgin gave birth and a Keebler elf left his oak tree and his cookie-baking-over-fiery-crosses business to become attorney general of Russia. So, anything can happen.
Changed my password yesterday to “ILoveMyJob.”
Just typed it in and the system says “What you entered is incorrect.”
Its burn game is on fleek today.
Man. Between hearing someone pass off my idea as their own in a meeting … and it got approval coming from their mouth … and getting an edited doc with that mistake made in it … and more, I really don’t know what else to say about today.
Or lack thereof.
“Employees — especially the stars — join a company and then quit their manager. It may not be the manager’s fault so much as these managers have not been prepared to coach the new workforce.
“Managers have been trained to fill out forms rather than have high-development conversations.”
I didn’t think I had enough crayons to explain this. Glad Gallup does.