Thursday, August 2, 2007

work hard, play hard....

...which for me means other than a brief foray to the bank (I got paid, TG TG TG!) and the chemist, spend most of the day at my desk doing boring but necessary stuff for the upgrades, cause a moderate amount of kak while I do that. Outside at 15h30, dig my hole some more - which means use pick, shovel, trowel and repeat - until it was deep enough to plant out the potted palm it was meant for. Unpot palm, discover it has spiky bits, get bitten by them lots, eventually just cut pot off with clippers. Put compost in hole, go to get another bag from behind house, come back to discover collie dog eating compost like he'd never been fed before. Put dog-doo in with plant and more compost - some urban legend says that burying their own turds in holes stops them excavating to explore - buried plant deep enough that anyone who tries to eat it or dig it is going to get spiky bits in their nose. Yeah, like that would really deter the dog who has been waiting in vain to eat a cat for five and a half years. Can only hope that it was his turd that I planted, not one of the others that he then feels obligated to uproot. (I cheated, I put in about 6 of different colour, size and shape - in the hopes that I'd include one from everybody!!)

And then mad cat-buddy called - her invoice for the past month's work had just been accepted without quibble, negotiation or outright refusal, and in about 10 days she will get an income of more than she has ever earned in a month before. Same as I did.
She wanted to celebrate though, by going out for fish and chips. I didn't. I wanted to stay at home and die. I owe her one though, for being around when I need to celebrate something, so went out for f&c - and in my case a couple of double vodkas.

Home early, worked lots more, pushed my luck by asking the client IT manager who scares the shit out of almost everyone I work with - except me, cos he's always been nice to me, possibly because he has a similar quick and evil sense of humour, which most people find offensive, but which had me laughing out loud the first time I was exposed to it - for a 'client appraisal'. Either he sends a note to 10 levels up saying tell the upstart cow to piss off, or he gives it to me. If he does it, and its only two pages of select 1 to 4 where 1 is dead and 4 is superman type Q's, about 14 in ass is toast - with beluga caviar! When the topic was mentioned briefly a couple of months ago, and I said that the only client employee I knew - everyone else works for outsourcing agencies - was H and I'd have to get it from him, my boss nearly choked. Just the idea of me mailing this hugely bad-tempered very senior customer to ask him for a favour was enough to make my boss, who came off worst in all their dealings in his previous job, feel weak. Hey, if nothing else, he was the one who ordered my company to hire me as the one and only DBA for their m/f work on his site - but that was about 2.5 years ago, and since then he hasn't spoken to me at all, mostly because my side of things has been problem free. Hope he remembers that night as vividly as I do....

And now, about 6 double vodka's down, and with a p-doc appt tomorrow, guess I should go to bed. It won't have any effect on anything except my BP, but I don't lie to him, so will admit it anyway. What can I say. It's been slow and steadyish, so I'm basically sober, but just a tad less wired. I didn't even throw up tonight, even after eating a whole supper. That's more than the meds do. Given that my personal rules say that after even sniffing an old cork, there's no SI or suicidality allowed anyway, even if it's a downer, it isn't hurting me more than being sober does. Way less so, I figure. Been quite a while since I felt like I didn't want more than anything to out of here. I'd still like to, it would be so sweet to just be gone, but it doesn't have the imperative drive that every sober night for the last two years (minus 6 weeks and 4 days for good moods) has had. And p-doc wonders why alcohol has so much appeal. How does one explain that even though it might be bad stuff overall, sometimes it's just so nice to not want to die?

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