Thursday, February 21, 2008
If it's not one thing it's another.
Last night, sometime between 9pm and 10pm, the radiator in the kitchen sprung a leak. I think it was probably closer to 9pm, because by the time I went into the kitchen at 10pm, there was enough water on the kitchen floor to do a breaststroke across the room.
Panic? 'Course I did. Then Lorraine used her waspish Thatcher-Bitch tone on me, I calmed down and we got on with it.
We mopped up the water. We stuck a bucket underneath the leak. Could we isolate the radiator ourselves? No chance. Some fool had painted over the... Sorry, don't know what they are called. The bits you can turn to cut off the water. Anyway, there was nothing in Lorraine's toolbox that fitted the knob-turny thing We looked at the terms and conditions of the plumbing insurance we have with Severn Trent. We were covered. Aces. Rang the emergency line. No chance of anybody coming out tonight. How about first thing tomorrow morning? OK. No choice really, unless we wanted to pay somebody else? No.
We calculated that the bucket would fill up in two and a bit hours. Lorraine decided that she would be the one who would stay up through the night and would go to bed at 4am. I would get up normally at 6am, waking her up before I left for work at 8am. She would then stay at home waiting for the plumber and would dial into work and work from home.
All sorted now. Radiator isolated and no more leaks. Didn't cost us a penny, either. Thank Jesus Christ and all his worshippers for that!
I had a fitful night's sleep, last night. Do you blame me?
********
Daisy: I know I haven't replied to any of your comments about "No Country For Old Men". I will, but not tonight.
I also have reviews to write of "The Diving Bell And The Butterfly" and "Definitely, Maybe". It might not matter squat to anybody else, but it does matter to me to get those reviews on the blog. Call it a matter of being consistent.
Last night, sometime between 9pm and 10pm, the radiator in the kitchen sprung a leak. I think it was probably closer to 9pm, because by the time I went into the kitchen at 10pm, there was enough water on the kitchen floor to do a breaststroke across the room.
Panic? 'Course I did. Then Lorraine used her waspish Thatcher-Bitch tone on me, I calmed down and we got on with it.
We mopped up the water. We stuck a bucket underneath the leak. Could we isolate the radiator ourselves? No chance. Some fool had painted over the... Sorry, don't know what they are called. The bits you can turn to cut off the water. Anyway, there was nothing in Lorraine's toolbox that fitted the knob-turny thing We looked at the terms and conditions of the plumbing insurance we have with Severn Trent. We were covered. Aces. Rang the emergency line. No chance of anybody coming out tonight. How about first thing tomorrow morning? OK. No choice really, unless we wanted to pay somebody else? No.
We calculated that the bucket would fill up in two and a bit hours. Lorraine decided that she would be the one who would stay up through the night and would go to bed at 4am. I would get up normally at 6am, waking her up before I left for work at 8am. She would then stay at home waiting for the plumber and would dial into work and work from home.
All sorted now. Radiator isolated and no more leaks. Didn't cost us a penny, either. Thank Jesus Christ and all his worshippers for that!
I had a fitful night's sleep, last night. Do you blame me?
********
Daisy: I know I haven't replied to any of your comments about "No Country For Old Men". I will, but not tonight.
I also have reviews to write of "The Diving Bell And The Butterfly" and "Definitely, Maybe". It might not matter squat to anybody else, but it does matter to me to get those reviews on the blog. Call it a matter of being consistent.
Saturday, January 05, 2008
The fucking boiler has broken down!
Yes, really. Now, I thought that the TV breaking down was stressful, but that was nothing.
Lorraine said to me gravely that, "These things come in threes, you know..."
Vile, horrible cow!
An engineer is on his way. I have my chequebook ready. I might have to arrange a loan.
Yes, really. Now, I thought that the TV breaking down was stressful, but that was nothing.
Lorraine said to me gravely that, "These things come in threes, you know..."
Vile, horrible cow!
An engineer is on his way. I have my chequebook ready. I might have to arrange a loan.
Labels: Bad Day, House, Stress
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Lorraine is still feeling like shit. As neither Lorraine or I are very good at being sick, or come to that very good at looking after the person who is being sick, you might say that tensions are high at Residence Chez Pynchon. Lorraine cannot sleep because of the coughing. Lorraine is angry, tired and annoyed. I cannot sleep because of the coughing. Ditto. Sometimes, during the night, Lorraine shouts at herself in frustration. Once, after a coughing fit, Lorraine managed to piss herself. Probably a good reason to have a shout at yourself. I know I would if it happened to me.
Lorraine intends to go to work tomorrow. That is assuming that I do not cut her throat in the night.
Swings and roundabouts, though. I came back from shopping today to a glass of Bucks Fizz and a huge slice of some kind of cream and fruit apocalypse, with extra cream poured all over it. I also got a hug. That was nice.
Time for my last two film reviews of the year. There will be no more movies seen at the cinema this year. I am all filmed out.
"I Am Legend".
It's quite interesting how the UK reviews of "I Am Legend" have panned out. The general gist seems to be that most reviewers really liked the first two thirds, but felt that all of the good work was undone by a rushed and unbalanced final third. Broadly I think I would agree with that. The first two thirds of "I Am Legend" are absolute genius, not only because of the brilliant realisation of an abandoned and devastatingly empty New York City, but because of a truly fine performance by Will Smith as Robert Neville.
3 years after a man made disease devastated the human race, Robert Neville is the last man left alive in New York City. He is haunted by dreams of his family, the way the crisis escalated out of control and the responsibility to find a 'fix'. Neville's isolation, depression and slowly building psychosis are a real thing. When night comes, Neville hides away. There is terror and there is dread, because there are things in the dark...
"I Am Legend" is a mostly great film, with a consistently great performance by Will Smith. Head and shoulders above what is the norm for a Christmas blockbuster. It is true that the ending dips into pretty predictable, CGI heavy, action heroics, but if you like that kind of thing, you will enjoy it. I just think that the ending somewhat dissipated the paranoid atmosphere built up earlier in the film. I think that the film deserved a better ending. The ending of the book would have been good. A new world born from the old.
Who am I kidding? No Hollywood studio would have gone for that ending. Way too bleak.
"Paranoid Park".
"Paranoid Park" is about what is going on in the head of a teenage boy after he has experienced a shattering trauma. He is dislocated and remote and 'not all there', or is he just in shock? It really is up to the audience to decide for themselves, because in an experimental movie like this one, no easy answers are forthcoming.
In general I quite like Gus Van Sant's films, but be aware that you need to judge each of his films on their own merits. This is hardly the Gus Van Sant of Hollywoodian mild indie fare like "To Die For", "Psycho", "Good Will Hunting" or "Finding Forrester". Stylistically "Paranoid Park" is a close cousin to his later "Elephant". Low key, quiet, internalised, sometimes naturalistic, but often dreamy, and with a chronologically fractured timeline. None of the actors seemed to be acting at all. Brilliant casting or brilliant acting? I am unsure.
Not for everybody.
I need now to go away and think about my top 10 films of the year. I bet you can hardly wait.
Back tomorrow.
Lorraine intends to go to work tomorrow. That is assuming that I do not cut her throat in the night.
Swings and roundabouts, though. I came back from shopping today to a glass of Bucks Fizz and a huge slice of some kind of cream and fruit apocalypse, with extra cream poured all over it. I also got a hug. That was nice.
Time for my last two film reviews of the year. There will be no more movies seen at the cinema this year. I am all filmed out.
"I Am Legend".
It's quite interesting how the UK reviews of "I Am Legend" have panned out. The general gist seems to be that most reviewers really liked the first two thirds, but felt that all of the good work was undone by a rushed and unbalanced final third. Broadly I think I would agree with that. The first two thirds of "I Am Legend" are absolute genius, not only because of the brilliant realisation of an abandoned and devastatingly empty New York City, but because of a truly fine performance by Will Smith as Robert Neville.
3 years after a man made disease devastated the human race, Robert Neville is the last man left alive in New York City. He is haunted by dreams of his family, the way the crisis escalated out of control and the responsibility to find a 'fix'. Neville's isolation, depression and slowly building psychosis are a real thing. When night comes, Neville hides away. There is terror and there is dread, because there are things in the dark...
"I Am Legend" is a mostly great film, with a consistently great performance by Will Smith. Head and shoulders above what is the norm for a Christmas blockbuster. It is true that the ending dips into pretty predictable, CGI heavy, action heroics, but if you like that kind of thing, you will enjoy it. I just think that the ending somewhat dissipated the paranoid atmosphere built up earlier in the film. I think that the film deserved a better ending. The ending of the book would have been good. A new world born from the old.
Who am I kidding? No Hollywood studio would have gone for that ending. Way too bleak.
"Paranoid Park".
"Paranoid Park" is about what is going on in the head of a teenage boy after he has experienced a shattering trauma. He is dislocated and remote and 'not all there', or is he just in shock? It really is up to the audience to decide for themselves, because in an experimental movie like this one, no easy answers are forthcoming.
In general I quite like Gus Van Sant's films, but be aware that you need to judge each of his films on their own merits. This is hardly the Gus Van Sant of Hollywoodian mild indie fare like "To Die For", "Psycho", "Good Will Hunting" or "Finding Forrester". Stylistically "Paranoid Park" is a close cousin to his later "Elephant". Low key, quiet, internalised, sometimes naturalistic, but often dreamy, and with a chronologically fractured timeline. None of the actors seemed to be acting at all. Brilliant casting or brilliant acting? I am unsure.
Not for everybody.
I need now to go away and think about my top 10 films of the year. I bet you can hardly wait.
Back tomorrow.
Labels: Illness, Lorraine, Movies, Stress
Friday, December 14, 2007
Friday, November 30, 2007
No work for me until Wednesday. Monday I am going with my Brother to see Crowded House at the NEC. Tuesday I will be recovering from going with my Brother to see Crowded House at the NEC.
Today... Well, today I just fancied a day off, but I also had plans. Today was going to be a blur of cinema going, filing, ringing the Tax Office over a weird letter I got from them about a shortfall of NI contributions for the period 2005 through 2006, ringing my pension provider to increase my contributions from January 2008, buying Christmas presents, hoovering, food shopping and a million other things. I say was because I haven't done a thing because the water has been off. From the sound of the water tank, it looks like it is just coming back on.
We had a note from Severn Trent last week saying that they were going to do be doing maintenance overnight, last night, from 9pm to 6am. Fair enough. I suppose these things have to happen. This morning I got up early because I promised Lorraine I would cook breakfast for her, being the nice boyfriend and all that guff. I noticed that there was only a trickle of water out of the kitchen tap. Lorraine leapt into the shower. She was lucky. There was enough water in the tank for her, but I have been bereft all morning.
I rang Severn Trent. There was a problem. They expected the water to be back 'later'. 'When later?' 'Don't know.'
Okey dokey.
I have been fretting. I have been moving from room to room, carrying the phone waiting for it to ring. I watched the extras on my "Gangsters" DVD. I made a cup of tea. I drank my cup of tea. I had a piss in my back garden, watched by a squirrel. He admired the size of my manhood and will no doubt tell his friends about it. I went back into the house. I sat down. I stood up. I checked my email. Waste of a morning. There was nothing wrong with the phone. I could have made my phone calls.
Never mind.
I suppose I had better have a wash.
Today... Well, today I just fancied a day off, but I also had plans. Today was going to be a blur of cinema going, filing, ringing the Tax Office over a weird letter I got from them about a shortfall of NI contributions for the period 2005 through 2006, ringing my pension provider to increase my contributions from January 2008, buying Christmas presents, hoovering, food shopping and a million other things. I say was because I haven't done a thing because the water has been off. From the sound of the water tank, it looks like it is just coming back on.
We had a note from Severn Trent last week saying that they were going to do be doing maintenance overnight, last night, from 9pm to 6am. Fair enough. I suppose these things have to happen. This morning I got up early because I promised Lorraine I would cook breakfast for her, being the nice boyfriend and all that guff. I noticed that there was only a trickle of water out of the kitchen tap. Lorraine leapt into the shower. She was lucky. There was enough water in the tank for her, but I have been bereft all morning.
I rang Severn Trent. There was a problem. They expected the water to be back 'later'. 'When later?' 'Don't know.'
Okey dokey.
I have been fretting. I have been moving from room to room, carrying the phone waiting for it to ring. I watched the extras on my "Gangsters" DVD. I made a cup of tea. I drank my cup of tea. I had a piss in my back garden, watched by a squirrel. He admired the size of my manhood and will no doubt tell his friends about it. I went back into the house. I sat down. I stood up. I checked my email. Waste of a morning. There was nothing wrong with the phone. I could have made my phone calls.
Never mind.
I suppose I had better have a wash.
Labels: Squirrels, Stress, Water
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
Monday, June 25, 2007
Hello kids!
Enjoy the weekend?
I did.
I was going to write about it. It was going to be post of humour and wit and wicked word play. Not going to happen now, because I am very fucked off at a frustrating 3 hours of trying to obtain a consensus with Lorraine as to which hotel to book in London for the end of August, for our trip to see the Stones. All I want to do at this exact moment is to bury this laptop in Lorraine's head.
Maybe I will write about the weekend tomorrow. Before "C. S. I. Crime Scene Investigation".
As you were.
Enjoy the weekend?
I did.
I was going to write about it. It was going to be post of humour and wit and wicked word play. Not going to happen now, because I am very fucked off at a frustrating 3 hours of trying to obtain a consensus with Lorraine as to which hotel to book in London for the end of August, for our trip to see the Stones. All I want to do at this exact moment is to bury this laptop in Lorraine's head.
Maybe I will write about the weekend tomorrow. Before "C. S. I. Crime Scene Investigation".
As you were.
Labels: Stress
Thursday, June 14, 2007
IT people of a sensitive nature, who are familiar with the UNIX operating system, are advised to look away now.
Gay Harry, the oldest and most experienced UNIX programmer at The Company, today logged onto a major customer's UNIX system as root and did the following:
cd /
rm -rf *
The command (delete everything in the current directory and beneath the current directory) only ran for 20 seconds before Gay Harry broke into it but, Hey! How long does it take to detonate an atom bomb?
When Gay Harry came over to me he was as white as a sheet, was sweating and his eyes were on stalks. I thought he was having another heart attack. (Gay Harry had a heart attack in the office a couple of years ago. It was a very shocking thing to witness. A first aider, a very disagreeable but brilliant programmer named Norman Grizzly, saved Gay Harry's life that day. I'm convinced of it.)
"John. I think I've fucked up."
Er... Yes.
My first thought. No problem. We can restore the whole of the system to last night's backup.
Er... No we can't. The customer had logged a call this morning letting us know that their backup had not worked since last Thursday. They had watched it fail, day after day after day, and had only bothered to tell us today.
Oh, shit! Then I think I shit myself.
I told Gay Harry to go for a walk and then I told Salvador Full, the product Boss, what had happened. He was remarkably calm.
"Did you do it?"
"No."
"Who did it?"
"Does it matter?"
"Yes."
Shit.
"Gay Harry. It was an accident."
There was a bit of chat about what Gay Harry had intended to do, which was kosher enough, and then Salvador shrugged his shoulders and said the happy phrase, "It's a tech problem now, isn't it? Give it to them. Tell Harry not to worry."
I kissed him on both cheeks and flung the problem on Terry Pig's desk.
Long story short, Terry is booked on an early plane tomorrow. The customer is abroad and Terry needs to be on site to rebuild their UNIX system. The data is fucked though.
I'm going to have a lie down. It's been a long day.
Gay Harry, the oldest and most experienced UNIX programmer at The Company, today logged onto a major customer's UNIX system as root and did the following:
cd /
rm -rf *
The command (delete everything in the current directory and beneath the current directory) only ran for 20 seconds before Gay Harry broke into it but, Hey! How long does it take to detonate an atom bomb?
When Gay Harry came over to me he was as white as a sheet, was sweating and his eyes were on stalks. I thought he was having another heart attack. (Gay Harry had a heart attack in the office a couple of years ago. It was a very shocking thing to witness. A first aider, a very disagreeable but brilliant programmer named Norman Grizzly, saved Gay Harry's life that day. I'm convinced of it.)
"John. I think I've fucked up."
Er... Yes.
My first thought. No problem. We can restore the whole of the system to last night's backup.
Er... No we can't. The customer had logged a call this morning letting us know that their backup had not worked since last Thursday. They had watched it fail, day after day after day, and had only bothered to tell us today.
Oh, shit! Then I think I shit myself.
I told Gay Harry to go for a walk and then I told Salvador Full, the product Boss, what had happened. He was remarkably calm.
"Did you do it?"
"No."
"Who did it?"
"Does it matter?"
"Yes."
Shit.
"Gay Harry. It was an accident."
There was a bit of chat about what Gay Harry had intended to do, which was kosher enough, and then Salvador shrugged his shoulders and said the happy phrase, "It's a tech problem now, isn't it? Give it to them. Tell Harry not to worry."
I kissed him on both cheeks and flung the problem on Terry Pig's desk.
Long story short, Terry is booked on an early plane tomorrow. The customer is abroad and Terry needs to be on site to rebuild their UNIX system. The data is fucked though.
I'm going to have a lie down. It's been a long day.
Labels: Computers, Stress, Work
Saturday, May 05, 2007
You will have to excuse me. Drink has definitely got the better of me. (Nearly a whole bottle of M&S Macon Villages 2005, if any anybody is even in the slightest interested. Lorraine didn't like it.)
Since the last post I have cooked steak and stir fry, with a chilli and ginger sauce, I have watched "Doctor Who" (a good episode, but not as good as the trailer for the next story in two weeks), I have watched "Final Destination 3" which I really enjoyed (and no doubt will do my reputation - do I have one? - as a film fan, no good at all), I have asked Lorraine if she would like to go to bed with me (turned down, obviously, with the excuse this time that I am pissed out of my head, which is not far wrong, if I am honest), I have eaten a banana and drank some water, I have booted up the computer and attached to the computer, I have ordered the latest book in the Independent Banned Books series, I have cancelled my order from CD 101 for the Bangles first album "All Over The Place" (the fuckers have kept me waiting for two months, which is a good six weeks two long, thank you very much), and now I am here, trying to think of things to write.
(Thinking... I am very pissed. I think I have mentioned that.)
I know. How about I wish I had a girlfriend who wanted to have sex with me? How about I wonder why I/she hangs around? How about I wish I had a different job? How about I wish I didn't feel so useless? How about it would be a lie if I said I wish I had more friends, because I kind of like my isolation from real life, but I really appreciate and yes, love, the friends I have met through the Internet like (in no particular order) Suburban Hen, Mark, Graham, Stef, Katy, Daisy, LB, Swiss Toni, Ginny, Doug (if I have forgotten anybody during this rant, I do sincerely apologize). How about at the age of 43 I wonder if I am going to get to 44 with my mind intact? How about I have
This is my favourite single of all time. (Sorry Mark. I know you hate the fab four.) When I went to see the Bootleg Beatles, a couple of years ago, they played this and I burst into tears. Music is mad, isn't it?
And this was the B-side.
What a band!
And ain't I just pathetic?
Since the last post I have cooked steak and stir fry, with a chilli and ginger sauce, I have watched "Doctor Who" (a good episode, but not as good as the trailer for the next story in two weeks), I have watched "Final Destination 3" which I really enjoyed (and no doubt will do my reputation - do I have one? - as a film fan, no good at all), I have asked Lorraine if she would like to go to bed with me (turned down, obviously, with the excuse this time that I am pissed out of my head, which is not far wrong, if I am honest), I have eaten a banana and drank some water, I have booted up the computer and attached to the computer, I have ordered the latest book in the Independent Banned Books series, I have cancelled my order from CD 101 for the Bangles first album "All Over The Place" (the fuckers have kept me waiting for two months, which is a good six weeks two long, thank you very much), and now I am here, trying to think of things to write.
(Thinking... I am very pissed. I think I have mentioned that.)
I know. How about I wish I had a girlfriend who wanted to have sex with me? How about I wonder why I/she hangs around? How about I wish I had a different job? How about I wish I didn't feel so useless? How about it would be a lie if I said I wish I had more friends, because I kind of like my isolation from real life, but I really appreciate and yes, love, the friends I have met through the Internet like (in no particular order) Suburban Hen, Mark, Graham, Stef, Katy, Daisy, LB, Swiss Toni, Ginny, Doug (if I have forgotten anybody during this rant, I do sincerely apologize). How about at the age of 43 I wonder if I am going to get to 44 with my mind intact? How about I have
This is my favourite single of all time. (Sorry Mark. I know you hate the fab four.) When I went to see the Bootleg Beatles, a couple of years ago, they played this and I burst into tears. Music is mad, isn't it?
And this was the B-side.
What a band!
And ain't I just pathetic?
Labels: Stress
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Let me tell you about what a nice guy yours truly really is.
All day yesterday I was on a course learning about data manipulation software. It was not at all boring. In fact it was really interesting. I learnt a lot, made some really good notes and came out of the course in a really good mood.
The mood didn't last.
I got back to my desk with an hour of the working day still to go. Plenty to do, but I felt I could cram quite a bit of work into an hour. I was up for it.
Except that I couldn't log on to any of the external sites.
I asked if somebody had been messing about with the modems. I got indifference.
I asked again. Had somebody been messing with the modems? Somebody said that they thought somebody had been under my desk doing something (isn't that a great sentence?), but that it shouldn't have affected me.
I said that I was affected. Could somebody sort it out? Please?
Lorraine suggested that I have a look for myself.
And I did have a look for myself. Hardware, cables, modems, printers, mouses, routers, phone sockets, wireless, blingimigs, woofers, tweeters, blodgers, marfarrrrs, eekephips. Machines. These are not my bag. These are not things that I am happy with. I sweat when I have to plug in and mess about with machines. I don't like doing it. I especially do not like making a fool of myself at work with machines especially when there is a dedicated (hah!) section, the Internal Infrastructure Team, to do it for people like me.
Then Lorraine said, "We always have to baby you along, don't we?"
I fucking exploded. In front of everybody. In front of the whole office. Well, by that time it was 17:30 and the mass rush for the exit had started, so it wasn't everybody who witnessed the Pynchon meltdown. I ranted and I raved and I banged the desk with anger.
Something had fucking changed. Someone had stopped me doing my work. Somebody had gotten in my way. Somebody should take responsibility. All I wanted was help to do my fucking work and all I was getting was indifference. Like our customers. Like everybody that The Fucking Company deal with. I could see the James Cunt in his office. He heard what I said.
Lorraine was very red in the face. She said some things and I said some things and a guy who was going to give Lorraine and me a lift home quietly disappeared. I don't blame him. He probably thought we would start punching each other in his car.
Eventually, after a very quiet journey on the bus, we got home and started again.
Lorraine said that I had shown her up in front of everybody. She said that I had embarrassed her. She said that work was bad enough as it was without me being a bastard. She said that if she let me get away with it, I was giving all of her staff carte blanch to talk to her how the hell they wanted. I said that I really didn't give a fuck.
But... She was right.
I regret it. I could have handled it a lot better. I could have chosen not to lose my temper. You can choose to do that, you know. I know that sometimes I have anger problems, but it rarely turns into a red mist moment. My Mom has told me that my Dad used to have those a lot when he had been drinking.
You can choose not to be an arsehole and that's what I have become.
Before stopping to watch "C.S.I. Crime Scene Investigation" and "Smith" I listened to "In Utero" by Nirvana on my MP3 player. I am pretty certain that the last time I listened to that album was the evening in 1994 that Sister 3 had her abortion. I paid for that abortion. She asked me for the money because nobody else would help her out. Maybe "In Utero" is my severe crisis album?
Yes, I am a really nice guy. A really fine piece of work.
(By the way, when I got into work this morning the connectivity on my PC was fine. Lorraine had crawled under my desk and sorted it out. That really made me feel good. Nothing else was said at work by anybody. Pynchon survives, but it will be a blessed relief if I am sacked.)
All day yesterday I was on a course learning about data manipulation software. It was not at all boring. In fact it was really interesting. I learnt a lot, made some really good notes and came out of the course in a really good mood.
The mood didn't last.
I got back to my desk with an hour of the working day still to go. Plenty to do, but I felt I could cram quite a bit of work into an hour. I was up for it.
Except that I couldn't log on to any of the external sites.
I asked if somebody had been messing about with the modems. I got indifference.
I asked again. Had somebody been messing with the modems? Somebody said that they thought somebody had been under my desk doing something (isn't that a great sentence?), but that it shouldn't have affected me.
I said that I was affected. Could somebody sort it out? Please?
Lorraine suggested that I have a look for myself.
And I did have a look for myself. Hardware, cables, modems, printers, mouses, routers, phone sockets, wireless, blingimigs, woofers, tweeters, blodgers, marfarrrrs, eekephips. Machines. These are not my bag. These are not things that I am happy with. I sweat when I have to plug in and mess about with machines. I don't like doing it. I especially do not like making a fool of myself at work with machines especially when there is a dedicated (hah!) section, the Internal Infrastructure Team, to do it for people like me.
Then Lorraine said, "We always have to baby you along, don't we?"
I fucking exploded. In front of everybody. In front of the whole office. Well, by that time it was 17:30 and the mass rush for the exit had started, so it wasn't everybody who witnessed the Pynchon meltdown. I ranted and I raved and I banged the desk with anger.
Something had fucking changed. Someone had stopped me doing my work. Somebody had gotten in my way. Somebody should take responsibility. All I wanted was help to do my fucking work and all I was getting was indifference. Like our customers. Like everybody that The Fucking Company deal with. I could see the James Cunt in his office. He heard what I said.
Lorraine was very red in the face. She said some things and I said some things and a guy who was going to give Lorraine and me a lift home quietly disappeared. I don't blame him. He probably thought we would start punching each other in his car.
Eventually, after a very quiet journey on the bus, we got home and started again.
Lorraine said that I had shown her up in front of everybody. She said that I had embarrassed her. She said that work was bad enough as it was without me being a bastard. She said that if she let me get away with it, I was giving all of her staff carte blanch to talk to her how the hell they wanted. I said that I really didn't give a fuck.
But... She was right.
I regret it. I could have handled it a lot better. I could have chosen not to lose my temper. You can choose to do that, you know. I know that sometimes I have anger problems, but it rarely turns into a red mist moment. My Mom has told me that my Dad used to have those a lot when he had been drinking.
You can choose not to be an arsehole and that's what I have become.
Before stopping to watch "C.S.I. Crime Scene Investigation" and "Smith" I listened to "In Utero" by Nirvana on my MP3 player. I am pretty certain that the last time I listened to that album was the evening in 1994 that Sister 3 had her abortion. I paid for that abortion. She asked me for the money because nobody else would help her out. Maybe "In Utero" is my severe crisis album?
Yes, I am a really nice guy. A really fine piece of work.
(By the way, when I got into work this morning the connectivity on my PC was fine. Lorraine had crawled under my desk and sorted it out. That really made me feel good. Nothing else was said at work by anybody. Pynchon survives, but it will be a blessed relief if I am sacked.)
Labels: Arguments, Computers, Lorraine, Stress
Monday, February 12, 2007
I am incredibly stressed.
Lorraine has convinced me that the best thing to do to increase the value of our house is to go for off-road parking. A group of men are coming on Wednesday to start to rip out the front gardens of myself and our Neighbour (Mr. Rasta - nice guy) before laying the foundations of a structure that will accommodate several cars off-road.
We do not own a car. Mr. Rasta has two.
I am incredibly stressed.
Water pipes. Electricity wires. Gas pipes. Cable/Broadband ... Er... Cables. I am expecting the worst.
I do not know how I manage to allow myself to be talked into such things.
I really cannot write anymore now. I am off to shoot myself.
Lorraine has convinced me that the best thing to do to increase the value of our house is to go for off-road parking. A group of men are coming on Wednesday to start to rip out the front gardens of myself and our Neighbour (Mr. Rasta - nice guy) before laying the foundations of a structure that will accommodate several cars off-road.
We do not own a car. Mr. Rasta has two.
I am incredibly stressed.
Water pipes. Electricity wires. Gas pipes. Cable/Broadband ... Er... Cables. I am expecting the worst.
I do not know how I manage to allow myself to be talked into such things.
I really cannot write anymore now. I am off to shoot myself.
