Boyfriend came home in a poopy mood last night and was uncharacteristically untalkative... his boss has decreed that until the current project is completed, and is paid for by the client, no paycheque for Boyfriend is forthcoming.
I can imagine that, if Boyfriend reads this blog, he would have therefore interpreted my "consolation prize" quip not as the purely self-depricating remark that it was solely intended to be, but as a reflection on himself: either a direct slam or an accidental truth about his personal worth. Please don't take it either way, honey.
Wish I could stop you from kicking yourself when you're down. There are already plenty of people out there in the world who would do that to anyone for free, and without much prompting. Therefore, in my extremely humble and self-depricating opinion, kicking oneself is not a self-disciplinary technique one needs to bother having in one's arsenal of coping skills. Please don't do it.
And if it was me you were hoping to punish by silence, well, Hah! I like the silent treatment. But it does make me worry about you. And it does make me go into the kitchen and do uncharacteristic things myself, like doing dishes, because I can't stand being in a room with a high poopyhead quotient. :) The Old Man being a feline poopyhead is bad enough.
What we need is to start a BossWatch -- a community blogsite where people can share their Stupid Boss Stories, blow off some steam and have a laugh. Maybe even at best such a site could even allay stress by helping to understand, if not condone, where Stupid Boss is coming from.
It should include links to gov't, legal, and psychiatric resources, as well as the HRDC job banks...
There's a song I have yet to be able to find online; it was done as a part of a CBC comedy show for Labour Day. It's titled, "My Boss is Stupid" and the lyric that keeps running around my head is:
In the dictionary under the word "stupid"
there's a picture of you
and a map to your house
and an impassioned plea to kill you.
If anyone happens to find the whole of it, please let me know. I think CBC funny guy and producer Al Rae was part of the group that sang it.
So, Honey Pie, for Xmas I don't want to exchange presents. I'd like to just pack a hot lunch and go on a winter picnic: drive on ghostly white deserted highways, where skittering snow shifts crossways like sidewinding sand across the inroads into the Sahara; photograph far away snowy places...
Hey, we can get some new thermoses out of the deal. Maybe that will encourage us to start bringing lunches to work. :)
Take care,
Ed