Change for the Better?

All of my friends are telling me to resign. Get out of the salt mines and do something worth while with my life. David read me my astrological moon reading, or something and it was frighteningly, word for word, as if it had been written about me.

Have faith, just resign, be more creative, believe.

Rachel says she needs someone to do her books. (Gads, do some one's book work, it's been a while) I could also work in the restaurant, if I wanted, part time. Like old times, she says. When we were uni students and we did the poor waiter thing, together. But I haven't been a broke uni student for a long time. I'm not that person any more. Although, it would be easy, except for the lack of money, natch. Relaxed. No responsibility. No high-flying corporate world back-stabbing bullshit.

Retire from the rat race, leave all the pointy-faced rodents, that make up the corporate maze, behind. The lying, the cheating, the point scoring, the scheming. Did I say lying? Awful people, who'd sell you down the river, as quick as look at you, to come out on top, to end up looking good, in the end.

We have an executive director of HR and Marketing who will tell whatever lie it takes, burn whoever, to make herself look good. She doesn't even hide her contempt for her lesser worker. Do as I say. Make me look good. Take the blame for me, unashamedly, as she connives her stay at the top. And anyone who dares to disagree, leave the fold, she completely ignores them. Go over her head and you are asking to die, professionally. We call her the golly, as she has lots of curly black hair and a rat face. She's truly awful. How do these people get salaries of five hundred grand when everything they do is based on untruths, spin and lies? She's a blood sucker, to be sure.

I counter her with the C.E.O. if ever I want to go over her head. It's risky, but effective. The C.E.O. loves me, as I do her.

Sell the house, have a life changing moment, be brave, says Rachel. Follow your dreams. Get away from the awful people. Do something that is real. Write.

I knew I was going to have a stack of emails waiting for me Monday, regarding a problem we were having, the Brisbane office was having, from Friday.

Oh, I was dreading the stupidity that would be waiting for me. As I headed into the office this morning, I said to my favourite mate @ work, Stacey,

"Someone needs to go berserk in the Brisbane office with a gun," I said. "That would fix it."

"You’re terrible," she said. Muriel, I thought. She laughed. "You shouldn't say things like that." Even if I was kidding.

"Not as terrible as them," I said. "Clueless, unashamed, bitches."

We both laughed and I wondered if I should rethink the whole work thing, if that is how I am feeling Monday morning.

And right on queue, the Brisbane office bought up every example of their incompetence and blamed it on me. Just like that. Without a care for logic, in their usual, clueless way. It's breath taking that they just don't get it. Even more breath taking that they don't get that they don't get it.

Attack is the best form of defence, I guess.

The National HR director said she would have weekly meetings with me, when I threatened to resign. "No Christian, don't do that," she said. "I'll sort them out for you, personally."

I worked late.

Sexy Steve was working late, too. He had those black pants on that cup him so well at the front and which slide down over him beautifully at the back. Sexy? Yes, I'd say he is sexy. He came in and chatted to me for a while. He's pretty to look at.