Last week was a nightmare. I had training (read: unnecessary reiteration) for the whole week. I had no time to get anything work-related done and, worse yet, no time to blog. To make a long story short, the way we’re being driven is little better than a form of chattel slavery. Dangling a sign reading “Arbeit Macht (FINANCIALLY) Frei” just brings up a bunch of historical stink as far as I’m concerned, both inter- and extra-company. Hell, even intra- is an issue. We just don’t currently do the kind of business that they’re switching us to, historically, and are also caught with our pants down systemically… The technology to support this model isn’t in place, yet. But enough harping, already. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I am not working here much longer. There’s no bloody way. Pray for me, or some such.
On more pleasant notes, Orpheus and I had a fairly good (albeit exhausting,) week, and not involving nearly as much nookie as I’d like. We’re both stressing a bit over what to get for everyone we know for Christmas, and recovering from my awful company holiday party last weekend. I’m getting more and more excited about heading to Michigan on Saturday, where I have a brief respite with my sister and her husband in St. Joseph before proceeding home, and picking up Dad’s Christmas Present for Mom (it’s a complicated, comfy desk chair that can’t exactly be hidden anywhere except my occupied bedroom. Due to accumulated bad vibes from interactions during my teen years, Mom simply won’t enter said space while I’m in residence). I’m planning on doing some serious job searching, experimenting with a few culinary ideas, including a rip-off of the ratatouille from the movie of the same name, and in general relaxing with old friends. I got the news this Sunday that one of my best friends in the world is getting married in July, and I’m to be one of her brides’ men… Well, I’m to be her only brides’ man, really, and that should prove most interesting. I just hope to god I don’t have to wear cream with a maroon vest, like my friend C. did in the same situation a few years ago. I’d never forgive S. for that. Never, ever… So I get to lecture her on this point come Dec. 26th in person.
For his part, Orpheus is actually going home for the first time in a year over Christmas. He doesn’t have a room there, anymore, and it’s unlikely he’ll have much privacy. I hope he doesn’t have a difficult time. This will also be the longest we’ve ever been apart. Good for both of us, I’m sure. There’s been so much ambivalence where he and I are concerned, lately. I love him dearly, and some time to think about us without him clouding my head first-hand, naked and hard will probably be a “good thing,” Martha Stuart style (though not as fascistic). Plus, I’m sure he’ll come home as horned as a rhinoceros, which can’t possibly hurt anyone’s feelings, even if it can wear away at one’s corn hole. I’ll try to weigh in more this week than last, and will DEFINITELY be giving dailies while at home… I won't really have much else to do.
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