There Are Fat Boys Too

I woke up 6.45am, late for me.

It was raining when I got up. It was falling heavily. It was like a winter’s day.

So, of course, Sam was up not long after me and he wanted to talk. I’d just settled for my quiet time to write, but it wasn’t to be. He wanted to talk about Mark’s investment proposition. He wanted to talk about it endlessly. I had sentences in my head that I was trying to hang onto, but with Sam talking enthusiastically, it was like trying to catch water with my bare hands.

It had stopped raining by the time I left the house. It was grey and bleak.

When I got to work Kirin wasn’t there. I immediately thought she hadn’t survived the meeting with Paddington Bear last night. But, then I remembered she had 2 days off for her family whatever it was. Yes away a week, back for 3 days and then away for 2 days. Nice work if you can get it.

I waited and waited and waited for Fatty Cake to come in, but the morning slipped away and she didn’t appear. An email came late in the morning saying that Fatty Cake was off on personal leave. Goodness me, is she still being held in the highest of esteem that she was? I wondered? The test will be in the future, surely, she can’t take any more sick days? Or it means the negative feedback from Guru Gail was right all along.

Fats Guts Carol Brady came over and told me her team was away and I think she said something about boss lady Fran being out of the office and Barbie being in FNQ.

“So it is just you and me holding down the fort.” We both did a girlish squeal together. She tries so hard to be nice, but somehow it always comes off as though she is talking at you. Oh, I shouldn’t be like that, she has been nothing but helpful to me. It is Kirin who calls her The Moll, or Fat Guts, with contempt.

Kirin thinks Barbie is a bitch and Barbie has always been lovely to me. Kirin thinks Fran is a flake, but she has always been lovely to me too.

Does Kirin rail against anybody who has power over her? It's a thought. I guess she does. As much as she'd like to be known as mother earth, she can be quite negative and she can be less than forgiving towards people she feels have done her wrong.

It was grey and bleak beyond my window. The rain fell. It is funny how the gloom outside somehow transports itself in.

I entertained myself with dirty thoughts about the cute Scottish boy for a time, Scottish Rocky. He has an arse on him that is well worth a second look. As I headed back to my desk late in the morning, he was squatting down at the filing draws and his red undies stretched tight across his gorgeous rump showing off the thick mat of hair disappearing into his delicious arse crack. I shook my head, after I’d done a double take to have a second look. Then I nervously looked straight ahead, as it must have been obvious what I was just looking at. I gazed around sideways as I continued to my desk, it didn’t appear as though anyone had noticed what I had just done. (note to self, don't do that again)

I wrote my journal for a bit. It is much easier to keep it up to date, if I write as close as I can to the actual events. You know, jot down what happened in the morning, at lunch time. That sort of thing.

Then I got down to work.

Fran floated by at some stage. She always says “Hi,” in her airy, private school kind of accent. She is the type that wraps herself up in a shawl like a Xmas present, or wears riding jodhpurs, into the office. Today it was a black lace up corset and tights with electric blue pixie boots and a blue felt cape.

You know, I thought Kirin and I were getting on well, but if only she’d answer her bloody emails. When she doesn't answer people, they start to email me. It is annoying. There had been one about some boring facts about something that she hadn’t answered. Then the guy sent it to me and asked me to provide the info. Kirin had clearly asked him to ask me for the info. Really? I lose patience with her very quickly. Do your own work, luv. It just proves she has no idea how busy I am. This is what drove Mazz mad.

She just text me as I am writing this. Apparently, she forgot the tax calculations for blah blah blah blah... I should text Mazz. Snigger! Oh what would be the real point to that? To listen to Mazz spit her dummy, that would be the point. I shouldn’t keep dragging her back into it, like a mother octopus, or ocky strap man.

Happy-Smiley-Floats-In-A-Sea-of-Dough has a packet of half eaten Tim Tams hidden behind his computer, I noticed, when I took an extra trip to the kitchen to gaze at Scottish Rocky, one more time. Happy-Smiley-Floats-In-A-Sea-of-Dough is the jovial large sized lad who does, um, I’m not really sure what he does. He is an analyst, of some sort. He has the weirdest body shape, as though his lower half is a pair of strap overalls with the arse and legs filled to overflowing with water. He is wading through life that way. Happy-Smiley-Floats-In-A-Sea-of-Dough is really friendly, he’s lovely really. I think he replace Terminally Ill Martin Clunes.

Of course, there is Fat Frankie too. The loud mouthed bag of shit, who gets on his phone and bellows so we are all apart of his conversation. He could just drop down dead from a heart attack mid phone call. If there was a god, let me tell you, he’d be a corpse on the floor already.

"MAATTTEEEEE!!!!!!!" Oh, I so hate it when I hear him bellow that.

I worked until 5pm. I nearly got everything finished. The second journal file failed on me in the end, bugger, bugger, bugger. I should have stayed and finished it, but I could smell the day off. It got to 5.15pm and if I’d done it again, I would have been there to 6pm. Still, I probably should have finished it, 6pm, or no 6pm.

I have tomorrow off. The problem being that I am still going to have to work long hours to get the next fortnight of work done on time and taking a day off is just going to put me behind.

Still, at 5.15pm I could put the next fortnight of work on the never never, with a day off immanent. Let’s let Ron worry about it, hey?

It rained all day, but by the time I was walking home the day was still grey but it seemed exhausted from the rain, you know, all cried out. It was just the residual drops falling from eaves and tree branches that were still drip, drip, dripping.

I typed some of this up in the morning, perhaps for half an hour and then I got into work. I printed it, though, so of course, at the end of the day I was paranoid about making certain the printed copy was in my bag. Even just writing about it now, at home, gives me an irresistible urge to check that I have the copy here with me at home, despite having checked it numerous times. Oh, could you imagine if any of them found this and read it. It makes me nervous just thinking about it.

We ate cauliflower soup for dinner. Sam hadn’t got crusty bread, again, so I drove to the supermarket and got an assortment of bread, crusty bread on the end of day special. I toasted olive bread to have with the soup.

I had a headache from the day, so I took a couple of pills and lay down on the sleepy couch, always fatal. Apparently, I was asleep by 9pm.

Sam woke me at 11pm, saying go to bed.