Friday, April 21, 2006

Have a nice day.

Today: My heel catches on a cable line snaking out from under the desk. I crash to the floor, landing on three-points: heel of the left hand, both kneecaps. In spite of swearing not to, in spite of counting to ten, twenty, one hundred and twenty, I am losing it with anyone who crosses my path.

I have gin and tonic and charred mammal for lunch.

Or as Weedy puts it, if the people who really know me were to describe me, “nice” would not be the first adjective that came to mind.

I tell this to the Scorpio. An amused gleam in his eyes. “Well,” he says, pretending to search for something reassuring, “you don’t like having to hurt people’s feelings.” I glare at him.

Sometimes I do.” Belligerent. He guffaws. “I’m telling you – I’m suspicious of nice people. What’s really going on, anyway? What are they up to? What the hell is their game?” He beams at me. “And by the way,” I tell him, jabbing him in the ribs for emphasis, “I don’t know what you’re laughing at – you aren’t nice either.”

“Yes I am,” he assures me, smiling beatifically, “on my nice days.”

“Oh fine. Well anyone can be nice on their nice days.”

So, I say to Weedy (keep up, we are moving back to another conversation here) – “What would they say?” There is a pause on the other end of the line. A noticeable pause.

“Well. You’re artistic.” Oh f-cking great. I’m a rotten shite of a human being, but at least I make pretty stuff. All the pretty goes into the stuff, matter of fact.

Which is why it is necessary for humanity that I immediately win the lottery and quit being forced to make a living dealing with nice people all day long. Nice people who are not doing their jobs meaning I have to yell at them because it is my job to see that they do their jobs. Nice people who are not saying what they mean or doing what they say or, in fact, paying any attention at all. Nice people as clueless as budgies. Nice people who worry about my stress levels, aloud, and want to help talk me through it.

People? Yesterday’s work is somewhere buried in the desk-fill. My working surfaces are obliterated with post-it notes and memos, all of them urgent and stating a deadline. Most of the dealines are now. At 3:00 pm I haven’t checked my email – because I’m afraid. My phone is ringing, three people are waiting to tell me I am responsible for the fact that they’ve incurred huge fines by steadfastly ignoring all overdue notices. They have to pay for them, which means, in turn, they will starve on the street, fail to graduate and break their parent’s hearts and it is definitely my fault. If you want to help my stress level, get out of my face and let me deal with these things instead of trying to accumulate Good Human Being Points by rendering uninvited drive-by therapy. My kneecaps are swelling and my thumb doesn’t want to move. And if you don’t stop nicing me now, I’m warning you (as I begin to count one thousand) you are exactly one gin and tonic away from becoming a newspaper headline.

Nice person dies at hands of Librarian. People who knew the suspect say she was “artistic.” Close friends reveal they always knew it would happen some day.


phlegmfatale said...

I've been poised on the verge of dismembering tiresome people all week. They've all had the uncannily brilliant instinct to back down, for some strange reason. Maybe it was the far-away glimmer of hellfire that sparkled from my baby blues. I know not. I care not. This is one more week they didn't drag me off to the penitentiary! Why do I feel I could have written that post for you - are we having parallel lives?

LJ said...

"newspaper headline"
My good Gawd. I've become Rosie.

Koru's Daughter said...

Wow, that is one hellova sub-personality that is on this rampage. I kinda like her - powerful and no BS. What do you call her?

Careful though, this is the same type of revealed power they put Martha Stewart in the pokie for.

Mary said...

.. ouch.

I love the way you describe lunch.

"Nice people who are not doing their jobs" are not nice. They may think they are but they're not ...

LJ said...

Pfatale. We should never meet. The Great Magnet forbid that we should ever possess weapons. I shudder to think...

KD! I thought they got Martha for stock fraud! I'm sincerely hoping they cannot arrest you for being merely demented and crazed. Otherwise, I might as well start seeing how I look in a jumpsuit.

Uh-uh, M. I'm sort of amazed at the levels of passive aggression in the world. Nodding, smiling, "sure, sure, I'll do that right now, I'm listening!" And then, nothing. PS - I'm wondering if this fit of continued ill-temper is the approaching Saturn return. It's early, but these big ones tend to register ahead of time.

Also, I need a new job. I've posted a job ad at Yottabite.

Koru's Daughter said...

The stocks were just an excuse. Martha Stewart was a publically powerful woman. That could never be allowed.

Off to my exam. Wish me luck!

herhimnbryn said...

Sod everyone else, sod dead lines,sod work.
Did you remember to R.I.C.E. your knees. I hope so. Knees are extremely delicate and you MUST look after them!
ps A good Malt whisky will definately help too!

beadbabe49 said...

ouch! some damn planets must be in their all-fucked-up conjunction! we had a fender-bender this week after 14 years without one...some might say we were due, but I'm blaming the planets!
and I agree...people who aren't responsible and lie to you (hmmm, I think I've met a few of them myself!) are NOT NICE! No matter how smiley their lying faces are!

LJ said...

Apparently there will be more than just me in the parade!
Thank you folks. I was waiting for my hit counter to start spinning backwards as people clicked off thinking - what a bitch!

Jess D'Zerts said...

[Saturday afternoon, she tiptoes in... Is the raging over? she wonders, having observed the fearfully sharp points on those horns and thinking, Ew, I just don't look good on red. On the other hand, she thinks, maybe impalement would better justify today's pity party. And seeing no flaw in that concept, she comments. Of course, courage is not her strong suit these days, so she comments very, very quietly, and then does her best to slip out unnoticed, back to her stupid and still poorly justified pity party, where she will ponder the possible merits of converting from misery to fury. She's sure there must be plenty.]

LJ said...

Jess. I hate to break this to you, but you aren't "nice" enough in that passive-aggressive budgie-like way to warrant my infrequent fury. No individual is, in truth. And this meltdown of mine was a hideous stew of a number of things - many "outward" and many strictly personal and projected out on people who were also acting like dumb asses in their own ways.

Misery, fury, misery, fury. It's a crummy contest with no winners, no matter what you choose (if you get to choose). And fury is just pain with armor. I chose to release fury rather than trying to hide it. I don't think it over and decide to rage because let's face it, it leaves you burnt up and burnt out. But when I am raging, I write it out and the one advantage is that rage is over faster than misery. I think. It burns - like fire after plague. And then - you leave it behind. If necessary, you make amends. And you correct course.

The advantage of writing about it is that, apparently, when you show your warty, shadow side, when toads and frogs spill from your keyboard - as opposed to when you are pondering calmly on it - it gives people permission of a weird kind. As a friend said, and I passed this on to someone else earlier, people can read and say, maybe with relief, "Well, I'm a bitch. But at least I'm not as big a bitch as her."

Don't thank me. I love to help. (That's a joke. Just a joke.)

This blog, to go on longer than anyone ever required, has a rule. Honest or shut up. And it is my theory that the blackest thought or emotion I feel is no darker than anyone else's. If it is - they just haven't had it arise to consciousness yet. The comfort is that shadows are created by light. It's evening in my life. The shadows are long. I refuse to be afraid of them.

Much love. Really.

Jess D'Zerts said...

" is my theory that the blackest thought or emotion I feel is no darker than anyone else's..."

You said it, LJ, that's so true, along with the part about the permission to have negative emotions. I've never been good at sugar-coating my emotions, nor at philosophizing about whatever silver lining or other indiscernible virtue might lurk beneath the surface of the dark ones. It's hell to think everyone else can handle it all and I'm the only one who can't. Much better to feel the relief of knowing I'm not the only one flippin' out!

So, your "just a joke" interrupted my funk with a ('nuther) laugh, and I'll thank ya for that even though you said not to, because even though I'm in the middle of cranky and whiny, I am still able to dredge up a little defiant to break up the monotony.

BTW, about your fury: I wasn't worried about a direct hit, 'cause you're right, I'm not that nice! ;-)

Anyway, thanks for the love. It was good to get.

zhoen said...

I hate it when the niceness is just spackle over their own incompetencw. It's fake niceness.

I too barely managed to restrain myself from murder this week. But we can't let the idiots win. Shrug off the toxic sweetness and search under the cushions of your own soul for peace and joy.

Goon said...

LJ, have three more gin and tonics, and let the chips fall. Well deserved.

AntiElvis said...

Welcome to my world.

It could be worse - you could be providing technical support for a bunch of librarians... ;)

LJ said...

Group hug.
I am chortling over all the responses.
And Anti-Elvis, cry me a river, baby.