Wednesday in Bed

Today, I'm being very juvenile. Completely. Extremely. I'm home. I've taken the day off in a childish snit.

Yesterday, I was ten minutes late for work. I was told off for it.

I know my colleague, who is, after all, my boss, becomes totally unreasonable when she is under stress - she's a liberal voter and, I'm sure, the product of liberal voter parents. She likes John Howard (from hence forth he'll be referred to as Mr Sheen) and believes in tax cuts for those of us who work, greater tax cuts for those of us who work harder. When she sees protesters in the street marching against Mr Sheen's IR laws, her response is, get back to work, you bludgers. She does have Mr Sheens 1950's'esque response to matters... at times. (And as with Mr Sheen, there will be no apology forth coming)

So usually, when she acts unreasonably, I let it go, I don't bite back.

Yesterday, I responded with, You can't be serious.

And you left early. (the night before)

I went to the doctor. (I finally went and got antibiotics for my gum infection. The same gum infection that I cancelled my dental appointment for, the week before, because of work commitments) All the extra hours that I put in that I don't get paid for, nor do I ask to be paid for them. That's just the way it goes.

Now this is coming from a woman who, up until a few weeks ago, with end of financial year going so horribly wrong, was incapable of getting to work before 9am.

I know, I know, she is my boss. Well, lets talk about that, for a moment.

We have worked together for five years. We changed companies together and took over a department that was in chaos. I replaced four people, which, to be honest, is more of a comment on their incompetence than on me. But, having said that, I still replaced four people. We replaced five people.

I've done my bosses job before, I can do what she does, I'm as good and as capable as she is. She knows this and it is an accepted fact between she and I, if not with the rest of the execs. I choose not to, because I don't want to do what she does, I don't want the responsibility, I don't want to be held accountable... because I have this stupid dream of being a writer. I want to do something else. (It isn't working out that way, just for the moment, but it is my plan) She knows she is damn lucky to have me, working down a shelf, if you get the meaning.

So, when she chose, yesterday, to, literally, not speak a single word to me for the entire day, because she is under the pump, I took exception to being treated that way.

As I walked home last night, I thought to myself, Let's put this into perspective, unreasonable boss lady and the junior worker is going to do what junior workers do, take no responsibility - after all, that's why she gets paid more, that's why she gets a bonus for all the extra hours she puts in and I don't, because she is the manager and she is ultimately responsible.

Last night, I ironed a shirt, for today and scolded myself for having such childish thoughts. Get yourself to work and help her out and prove that you are the adult that you really are.

But this morning, oh, I don't know, my real plan kicked in and the thought of spending the day doing what I really want to be doing, that is writing, was too much of a temptation, so I called in with a migraine at 7.04am.

Her head will probably explode, the mood she is in, at the moment. (Tomorrow, there will probably skin fragments wrapped around the computers and bone shards embedded in the ceiling and brain tissue splattered on the window, completely encircled with yellow, crime scene, tape... snigger, snigger)

Lottie said that it was probably PMS and that I should cut her some slack. Oh please!