My shiny new I've just had a little holiday feeling has fucked off. Its the end of year plus end of financial year (yes it is odd that my work has end of financial year in December) scramble time. While it was excellent that I had a week off it was not excellent to come back to an office full of people freaking out in many varied and subtle ways. A lawyer has managed to save a word file as a movie making it impossible to open, others have gone into an odd festive mode and others are constantly interrupting everything and imagining complications and despite my best efforts and long days I seem to be scrabbling under an unliftable fog of confusion.
My annual performance review is tomorrow, or as I like to think of it, meeting with boss and Chair of Board to discuss all the ways in which I fuck up meeting. This is useless and boring information brought to you in an easy to access format. This is a way to type, with feet and hands and a raft of stringing unsaid things. This is the most interesting thing somebody wrote on my staff performance/fuck up sheet "Pleasant in so many respects but disorganised in delivery".
I'm not disorganised, I'm alive. This year, this endless shred of a year has been one of the most difficult to survive. I had to laugh when I read the comment about being pleasant and disorganised. I'm not fucking pleasant but I'll cop the disorganised. In the scheme of things, to me, it doesn't seem like it matters a hell of a lot. Sure I'll listen to what they say and try to do things differently but its not rocking my boat.
Some months this year I was sitting in front of my computer chanting breathe in, breathe out because if I didn't I would have stopped. In my own personal performance review I am listing excellent things; did not kill self, has stopped vomiting every morning, has no plans to die, able to have some moments of happy. I'm walking around by myself, a single and independent woman and that's just the way I want to keep it. I know that the only way I'm going to make it from here to happy town is if I just keep walking and occasionally, just for the hell of it, add a hop and a skip into my step. You never know, maybe some croutons of happiness will tumble into the shit soup of my life.
My annual performance review is tomorrow, or as I like to think of it, meeting with boss and Chair of Board to discuss all the ways in which I fuck up meeting. This is useless and boring information brought to you in an easy to access format. This is a way to type, with feet and hands and a raft of stringing unsaid things. This is the most interesting thing somebody wrote on my staff performance/fuck up sheet "Pleasant in so many respects but disorganised in delivery".
I'm not disorganised, I'm alive. This year, this endless shred of a year has been one of the most difficult to survive. I had to laugh when I read the comment about being pleasant and disorganised. I'm not fucking pleasant but I'll cop the disorganised. In the scheme of things, to me, it doesn't seem like it matters a hell of a lot. Sure I'll listen to what they say and try to do things differently but its not rocking my boat.
Some months this year I was sitting in front of my computer chanting breathe in, breathe out because if I didn't I would have stopped. In my own personal performance review I am listing excellent things; did not kill self, has stopped vomiting every morning, has no plans to die, able to have some moments of happy. I'm walking around by myself, a single and independent woman and that's just the way I want to keep it. I know that the only way I'm going to make it from here to happy town is if I just keep walking and occasionally, just for the hell of it, add a hop and a skip into my step. You never know, maybe some croutons of happiness will tumble into the shit soup of my life.
Comments
Simply wonderful.
It's the little steps. The not wanting to die, the feeling that you can skip at some point, the feeling that small bits of delicious toast will fall into your soup, that make tomorrow hopeful. We can't let go of the maybes. Once we do, tomorrow becomes moot.
Cath that is an odd way to spell thank you but I like the idea.