I know I have not been writing on here very often lately, but I just haven’t had the motivation, what with work and other things going on in my life. My goal is to make each post something I can reread a year from now without cringing, and I know that if I force out some fluffy crap strictly for the sake of posting, my eyes will bleed when I go back and review what I’ve written. Therefore, I just wait until the urge moves me, the time presents itself, and the stars align perfectly, and THEN I post.
It seems like such a lame excuse to play the Work Is So Hard, Poor Me card, but it really has been a bit of a bitch lately. My boss came to me a few weeks ago and informed me that they were going to hire another person to relieve some of my workload. Sensing a chance to renegotiate my salary in the near future, I spoke up, presented a plan for how I would handle my continually increasing number of clients, and convinced them that I could easily do the job of two people. Then I went back to my desk, took another swig from the enormous flask I keep under my desk, and cried at the realization that I had just become That Person, the person who kisses the boss’ ass, excels in the workplace, and presents plans and goals in hopes of bettering the company. At least I can take comfort in knowing that my motivation was entirely selfish.
The result of that moment of quick thinking is that I am now struggling to juggle more clients than I know how to handle. These people have more needs than your standard infant, and when they need something, they need it Right Now, which means my email and phone are constantly being inundated with cries for help. So what do I do? I freeze up in the face of enormous responsibility, eat my seventh meal of the day, and read celebrity gossip columns online. Okay, so maybe Bob needs his price list reviewed immediately and Susan needs her modification edited, but did you know that Paris Hilton’s breasts have grown substantially larger lately? Now that’s important.
In other news, I got a haircut yesterday. This would be unremarkable were it not for the fact that I’d needed a haircut for weeks, something my office manager would remind me of every morning when I’d come strolling in with a fraying mop plastered on my head. I’d finally become fed up with my straggly split ends last week, but as my budget had not allocated for a haircut until this pay period, I grabbed a pair of kitchen scissors, split my hair into two chunks, and chopped off the bottom inch and a half. The result was the appearance that I’d accidentally stuck my hair in the garbage disposal, which finally prompted yesterday’s visit to a salon where the stylist chastised me by saying, “I don’t try to do your job; don’t try to do mine!” At least that’s what I think she said – her English was somewhat lacking, and I was preoccupied by the fact that her name was Kill. As in, Kill will be cutting your hair today, lucky you! Were her parents unaware of more reassuring options, like Clip or Style?
Kobe has been very needy lately, which is different from his normal state of being fairly needy or frequently needy. In the past few months, it also appears that he has lost a lot of weight, which finally prompted a visit to the vet on Monday afternoon. It turns out that he actually weighs exactly what he did six months ago, which reinforces my assessment from a month ago: my dog is going bald from all the shedding. He has shrunk to half his size through the loss of fur alone.
The vet, however, did concede that Kobe may be having difficulty adjusting to my new, longer hours at work. (And I’m like, him? What about me?!) Apparently Kobe is a sensitive dog who takes my absence personally and decides to do effective things like boycott food to make his feelings known. Because, you know, nothing says Take That! like declining to eat your own food. In my infinite state of loving motherhood, I see that as a great way to economize on kibble.
But I have decided to start coming home earlier when possible and to work from home at every opportunity. I don’t know how my bosses will feel about that, and I’m not entirely sure I’m ready to explain that I have a sensitive dog that would prefer that I never leave his side, but I’m willing to handle the humiliation for Kobe’s sake. In the meantime, he just tries to get as close to me as possible whenever I am actually at home. I believe that if given the chance, the dog would sleep inside my esophagus and STILL feel like he wasn’t close enough.
The Portrait of Infinite Need:
My last piece of news involves my grandmother. No, it’s nothing bad; in fact, it’s something remarkable and wonderfully extraordinary: she wanted to speak to me when I called last Friday. I know to many of you this seems unusual; after all, aren’t grandparents fuzzy, happy people who dote on their grandchildren? Not mine. My grandmother loves me, sure, but she is not the type to savor a long phone call from her granddaughter. When I call each week, we barely get past the hellos when she is already thanking me for calling and saying that she doesn’t want to keep me. It makes for some quick and easy phone calls on my end, but imagine my surprise last week when she kept me on the phone for FIFTEEN WHOLE MINUTES. I think she must have been drinking.
So that’s it. I am really going to get back into updating this site regularly, but for now, I must go and walk my sensitive dog. He’s getting teary-eyed at the lack of attention.