Oh Crap!

-
A crappy crappy day!

My mind has just become woolly and I have to interact with dunces from Dunceyard dancing around me waving files and throwing weight and acting self-important.

I think I'm ready to pop a blood vessel in the white rage that consumes me. Every time I get up to storm off somewhere, I stub my toe. I'm a big girl now but I've come close to tears at the unfairness of not having a cubicle all to myself. I don't even have a potted plant.

Hmm, interesting! A potted plant - I shall call it Evangeline, after Longfellow's poem.

BENT like a laboring oar, that toils in the surf of the ocean,
Bent, but not broken, by age was the form of the notary public;

I'll put some fake earthworms around it and slim, silver streamers every Friday to celebrate the Christmas that is so so far away. Maybe, I'll also tie pieces of colorful rope on each branch so that the fake earthworms can go and hang themselves if the earth gets too much with them. That'll be interesting arboreal ornamentation, me thinks.

Maybe I'm a fake earthworm on someone else's potted plant.

Oof!

A crappy crappy day!

Comments

R. said…
And I thought I had all the dunces working with me :-)

I've got a boss who reminds me of the Pointy Haired Boss in the Dilbert comic strip, this guy makes everyone, fax a document, send it by courier and by email.
5:07 PM
Mukta Raut said…
So cute! Your boss, I mean. Sure, I can see why it's exasperating for you but just the idea that someone somewhere does this buffoonery in all earnestness...hee hee! classic funny!
7:10 PM
Nagesh Pai said…
Hehehe.. you sure had a terrible day :-D... Black monday straight from Thomas sawyer...Cheers!
9:17 PM
Nagesh Pai said…
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
9:18 PM
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Check (the) mate

-
My cousin, who was born sixteen hours before me, got married recently. I am expected to follow her footsteps soon. Thankfully, I have been granted more than sixteen hours to do that. My father’s health has taken a turn for the worse. My mother is completely exhausted. Rationally, points 1, 2, and 3 would be distinct from each other. But in my family there is no such thing as ‘rationally’. Therefore all these points are inter-related. Strangely, here, we believe my marriage to be an antidote to mortality and fatigue. I happened to be sitting in my parents’ room while Ma looked through Papa’s blood reports. They didn’t look good. Ma was worried and Papa didn’t help matters much. He kept talking about Sourav Ganguly and why he deserved better. Ma got further agitated and after flinging the reports somewhere inconvenient to retrieve (I should know), she snapped, “So what? There are many like him.” Papa doesn’t believe that and would have no one in his family believe that either. He went to...
Read more

Not the same, all the same - Rang de Basanti, being a Hindu, uniform civil code, and Hostage – in that unrelated sequence

-
I watched ‘Rang de basanti’. That, however, is not the point. Everyone now wants to go to Delhi and cruise around in jeeps at night. And that too is not the point. I need to say something. That, really, is the point. ‘Rang de…’ is a good movie but frankly, I’ve seen better. I’ve seen ‘Yuva’. It is creditable, though, that the movie could say what it did without using the ‘sage on the stage’ (as we say in Instructional Design) approach. The movie does have a couple of ideas that I have been besotted with for a long time now. One is the life of a story. There is the germ of an idea about men who go to their deaths cheerfully. There is fascination about what could inspire such courage in ordinary people. That story lays inside a diary for a long time. How long? Long enough for history to play itself out and begin the process of repeating itself. A nation goes the ‘Animal Farm’ way – humans out, pigs in. The story lays untouched – fermenting in latent vigor. Then someone discovers it. She ...
Read more

Save the Indian (male) child

-
This isn't exactly a feminist tirade, but this is written by a woman, and it is written in annoyance. You raise your girls to be sweet, strong, and independent. (Wise parents teach their children to listen to opinions and discard or heed accordingly. The other ones just teach their kids to bullshit everything that everyone says. Still others bring up girls to be on guard and forget that spine so that everyone thinks well of them. I am not sure which is worse, but I detest people shoving their opinions down other people's throats in a show of liberation, so I'll lean towards the former. But only slightly.) As the gender construct of being a 'female' is pushed even further, you teach your daughter complicated activities – driving, perhaps, sending them off away from home, wearing a sari (those freaking pleats!), cooking and de-veining prawns for added advantage. At the end of that, you have a person who genuinely dislikes blending into anything, doesn't like bei...
Read more