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September 28, 2002-8:36 a.m. I�ve been working very hard the last two weeks. Well, okay, two of those days I was sick so I didn�t work at all, but the rest of the time�I was working very hard. The reason for this sudden acquisition of a work ethic, you may ask? Surely, you recall this incident! Well, I�m trying quite diligently to get off of warning and clear my good name. If I meet my goals this month then the warning falls off. Big T is just as dedicated to this goal as I am. In the midst of this intense focusing, management has decided that there will be no more downtime and a huge portion of my job is non-productive. Yikes! What, I wasn�t stressed out enough before this? As everything and I do mean everything is about her, my assistant is in her usual uber-chatty-gripey-stress mode at the news of this new development. Frankly, she�s not on warning; I don�t want to hear her petty freaking complaints. I do not care and I�m not sorry to say it. I�ve been really trying to focus so I�ve been wearing my headphones as much as possible, especially when she is there. This is a somewhat dicey solution as she is sometimes inclined to tap me on the shoulder and disturb my groove by asking me the most inane questions ever. On Wednesday, she tapped me on the shoulder to tell me that while I was out sick, a lot of people had come by my desk and admired the d�cor of my cube. Great. Thanks, but that�s hardly relevant to anything. �I told them, �You know, that�s Sa, she�s an artiste.�� Artiste? On top of this, she has been afflicted with cold/allergy/sinus problems this week. I have to squirt two different prescription drugs up my nose every morning and take prescription antihistamines, as well. Until this last April, I had spent a goodly portion of my time in the allergist�s office getting allergy shots�one in each arm because I�m allergic to so much stuff they can�t fit it into one shot. I�m really loath to listen to your sniffling all day when you can�t even go out and get some over the counter remedy or won�t take it because it makes you sleepy. And I�m not the damned Kleenex factory! �I�m dying. I can�t breathe� You aren�t dying! And obviously, as you are still able to TALK, you must still be breathing. And while we�re on the subject of breathing, could I get you to do something about that dragon breath of yours? I wouldn�t even mention it if it weren�t such a constant thing, what with the lingering stench and all. Um. Is it really obvious that I�m ready for her to move? **Disclaimer: All characters in this diary are fictional. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, real or imagined, is purely coincidental and unintentional.** |
