Fuck

I'm fucked off. I've just spent the last month working my arse off - working harder than most people in my office would have worked in a long time - and what have I got to show for it?

Nothing. A big fat fucking nothing.

I fucking hate my clients, I fucking hate targets and I fucking hate managers.

My manager has just released a sales competition - a wholly pointless exercise when our targets are sky-high and it's not likely that anybody will hit their target. So his little comp-adventure is purely serving to make us all feel crap about not achieving something else.

How many things can you NOT achieve this month?!

Brilliant - feeling on top of the fucking world.

Stoopid

Last night I cracked it - I saw an ad on TV, not for the first time, and I just blew up about it. Some of you may have seen it. It's for Stayfree sanitary towels. Their new marketing campaign was to change their packaging so that the packs are colour coded to indicate absorbency; i.e. Light, Regular or Super.

I ask you this: What percentage of women buying sanitary products is unfamiliar with the meanings of the words Light, Regular and Super, and therefore needs colour coding?

Are the marketers of this product making a statement about women in general? Are they saying that we need everything to be colour coded? Also - do men need colour coding on their razor blades? Hmmm?

So that's my little rant today. Apart from that I'm in a very good mood, which is becoming the norm of late. There are some things which will be happening in the next few days that may affect my mood, but I'm hoping that it won't be too dramatic.

And on a slightly separate note, I think the UPS guy is frightened of me.

Dull

My senses have been dulled, somewhat, by the prescription of a new drug. Yay for new drugs, Boo for dulled senses.

Or is it that clear cut...?

I'm next to certain that my work colleagues have noticed the new stability of my moods, and in that case would likely praise the dulling of my senses. But we have yet to see how this dulling affects my work. I have been a little behind the 8 ball for the last couple of days, floating on a cloud of good mood so not much work has been done... moving forward, I'll continue to assess this.

I hate it when people say 'moving forward'. Fuck it shits me to tears.

My concentration hasn't been spot on either... my mind drifts all over the place. Unfortunately this also means my car has been drifting all over the road. But it's ok; he's going in to get his latest little boo-boo fixed up next week, so any new dents can just be sorted out then.

So yay for new drugs. New drugs make a happy Bazza.


NB: New drugs + Bazza = Do not operate heavy machinery.

When the going gets tough...

...the tough get going.

I'm staying put, so obviously I'm not that tough.

I'm keeping my tidy waste of space ass away from anything provocative, in the hope that I can weather the storm without causing too much damage to other people and myself. Valium's a massive help! As is the prospect of going back to England for a holiday.

Yes, you heard me - Bazza just might be coming back to the mother country. Not for long, but a return nonetheless. I'm thinking 2 or 3 weeks early next year. I feel like some nasty wintery weather. How I miss the cold wind that rips right through you...

Mostly though, I miss my friends. I've never really missed a bunch of people quite so much and I'm beginning to forget why I left London at all. So, I expect all of you to be free and totally available for a catch-up. I'm thinking The Spoons on a friday lunch time with onion rings and chips. I'm also thinking The Betsy of an evening, with their scummy toilets - god I hope they haven't renovated...

Disappointment x 27 = ?

Thank fuck for that - it's the 15th of Feb. You see, secretly I was as bitter as always with the whole V Day thing. But I decided this year I wouldn't jinx my chances by moaning about it so much that anybody who was possibly thinking about getting me something would be scared off and not get me anything. So I kept quiet, tried to remain relatively neutral and then the big day came.

I managed to only be in a visibly bitter mood for about 3 hours in the morning, and then I swept it aside with the hope that something might be in my letterbox when I got home. So I waited and waited and got home and checked the letterbox and there was nothing.

So, for the 27th year running I have received nothing. I can't say I'm completely surprised. I'm a fairly intimidating person and if I were a bloke I'd be a little afraid to give me something. But that's no fucking excuse. It just goes to show that I need to find a man with a rather large set of balls. One who can slap me about a bit and tell me to shut the fuck up and accept the flowers/chocolates/card without a word of complaint. But I seem to be neglecting something here... the fact of the matter is; I received nothing because nobody wanted to give me anything.

Ha hahahahaha haha haaa. Truth hurts, but it's also quite amusing.

I really do need to meet more people. If I'm going to endlessly put hope on this stupid fucking day of the year then I should really try and heighten my chances of not being disappointed. It's akin to a hermit asking 'why don't I have any friends?'... and that's a completely separate issue right there.

P.S. I would like to point out that telling someone "oh you'll find someone when you're not looking" REALLY DOESN'T HELP. 'Not looking' requires having NO HOPE - ergo, telling me 'you'll find someone' gives me hope and I start to actively LOOK. In order for your stupid statement to work at all it necessarily requires you to NOT SAY ANYTHING and let me fall into my pit of hopelessness. Because apparently, according to you, that's when I'll find someone. Brilliant. I wonder if they'll arrive before or after I slit my wrists...?

Early

Today I left the house 5 minutes earlier than usual and have arrived at work 30 minutes earlier than usual. It just doesn't make any sense. So, as it's far too early to be doing actual work, I'm going to sit here and write nonsense.

What to write about? Well, I'm not sure if you're aware but I have recently formed an investment corporation. I shan't give away the name, becuase I imagine that when we make our first million you'll all be begging me for money. And nobody wants that. I'll just let it be known that I am now on a quest to gather as much information as I can about investing. I am reading all manner of boring investment and business magazines, and am thinking of getting a subscription to the Financial Review.

I do like the idea of a small child throwing my paper into my garden every week. You see, in Australia that is how papers are delivered. They're wrapped in plastic and thrown into your garden. In England this doesn't happen - it was one of those things that I could never get my head around when I first moved there. Why put your letter box in your front door? Why would you want your letters to be the first thing you step on when you get home? Nonsense.

Oh so I told you all that I wasn't going to write my pre V Day rant didn't I. I will resist the urge... although I have to say; the anger is building rather rapidly. This morning I was walking behind a pair of people who decided to stop in the middle of the street to have a snog. This was completely unacceptable so I told them so (in not so many words).

But hey - it doesn't matter. It'll all be over in 48 hours and I won't have to feel the intense loneliness and rejection until next year. Woo!

PB

I spilt peanut butter on my black shirt this morning. A silly move, but totally unavoidable. Shouldn't have been eating peanut butter anyway. Meh.

The PB on my top only served to highlight the fact that it was actually too big for me, and I started to stress and be a complete knob about the fact that I probably looked like a right fatty with peanut butter down my top and a billowing top. Blah. This was not a good situation to be in.

So, I walked to Jeans West - the shop that I bought my top at - and I found the smaller size, tried it on, and voila! Brand new top, fitted, no PB.

The fact that I am now wearing a size 10 - my PB (Personal Best) - is extremely exciting. It's completely distracted me from the fact that I have a shit load of work to do, my email is down and I have to fuck about with stoopid errands at lunch time.

Ra ra ra.

It's also distracted me from the fact that V Day is on Thursday. Although I had forgotten about it prior to this morning, which is a damned record; a PB in fact. Usually by now I would have subjected my readers to my annual Pre V-Day rant - but this year, I just don't feel that it's necessary! Don't worry - the world hasn't changed its course - I'm still single and living with my cat - but I'm not so desperately single as previous years. Sweet.

Pain, pain go away...

It's been raining for what feels like months, and my wisdom tooth has been hurting for what seems like years. But somehow, the two are inextricably linked. I'm near to certain that they came on at the same time.

So, my question is this: if the rain stops, will my wisdom tooth stop hurting? Additionally, if the pain stops, will it stop raining?

On to my next point - pain prevention. Much like an umbrella, ibuprofen stops the pain/rain from hurting/wetting me, but only temporarily. There's always a little bit of rain/pain that gets through the ibuprofen/umbrella, and there's nothing to be done about it.

So as I sit here in pain, barely able to open my mouth to take a sip of coffee, I wonder; do I control nature, or does it control me?

Cosmos

Oh how the cosmos mocks me. I believe that the 'powers that be' have a direct feed from my blog, because every time I write about something good (re: recent post - Moody) they turn the tables and my world turns to a whole heap of shit.

Am I exaggerating? No. I think not. I am not going to explain the whole situation because quite frankly, I don't think you'd believe me. Let's just say this: If good things come in small packages (read; bar of chocolate) then bad things most definitely come in large, pulsating, comically oversized bags of CRAP.

I've turned to smoking again, to relieve the stress. The valium bottle is also being hit a little too hard. And my colleagues are blissfully unaware of the true extent of the vague situation I communicated to them. BUT, this is a good thing. The less my problems are brought into the work atmosphere, the more I can escape them while in the office.

This is my action plan: Work is escape. Work is a place of joy and happiness. Work does not house stress.

Bring on Monday...