Dear Diary
Fuck the calorie counter, and fuck propriety. I am drinking a very large glass of white wine and eating peanuts. Yes, I need a savory snack with my whine.
Yes, whine.
That is not a spelling mistake.
Watch out! Here it comes...
Today was my day to be shat on. From a dizzy, dizzy height.
Three.
Fucking.
Times!
The first was from a colleague.
She was shitting on me because I had sent her an introduction to a ex-colleague of mine from a previous job. My ex-colleague wants to network with people who do a role similar to hers, because she has worked for the same company for a very long time and she is interested in how the job is done in other companies.
I made a mistake, I admit it.
I should have talked to my current colleague first, and asked her if I could send an email introduction. I screwed up. I know I screwed up. When she first contacted me, I immediately knew it. I went away and thought about it and I figured out HOW I screwed up. I tried to mitigate the screw up. I tried to learn from the screw up.
When we met, I apologized immediately. I explained what I had done to reset my ex-colleague's expectations, so that my current colleague does not have to follow up if she didn't want to.
But, here's the thing. When someone wants to shit on you, it's unpleasant for them. So they seem to want to spend ages justifying to you WHY they are shitting on you.
So I had to sit for twenty minutes to hear, again and again, the same reasons why what I had done was not the best way to go about things.
If I had $5 for every time I had to nod, agree, or say "I understand" I'd be able to buy that pair of boots I've had my eye on, which would have been a much more enjoyable and far better use of my time than wiping poop out of my eyes and spitting it out of my mouth as it rained down on me.
Shitfest No. 2 occurred in what I thought was an information gathering meeting with one of the stakeholder groups for my project.
Why is it that the sword of Damocles drops on the back of your neck at the END of a meeting? If people come with an agenda, why aren't they just up front about it?
Why can't they sit down at the start of the meeting and say: "Look, we need to address the elephant in the room here..." and just lay it out for us to solve together?
Instead, 5 minutes from the end of the hour, I'm sideswiped with the fact that my project which, until today, I thought was an internal thing, for my team primarily, with a few secondary stakeholders, seems to be, according to this team, THEIR project. It exists, they think to satisfy THEIR business goals.
So, apparently, I need to get their boss to "have a conversation" with my boss so we can sort this out.
I took this job with the understanding that I had to implement an internal project. Now it turns out someone thinks they are my "business user" with requirements?
ARE.
YOU.
FUCKING.
KIDDING ME?
This is a political shit storm. It wasn't raining shit. It was snowing the damn stuff, and it was building up in poop snowdrifts all around me.
I managed to get out of the room, explaining that I had to go to the dentist.
I was ready for that. It was my annual teeth cleaning and I knew I was going to get flak about not flossing. Happens every year... grin and bear it.
But, nooooooo.
Seems I have a small cavity, which sparked a detailed analysis, by the dental hygienist, of my current diet and it's sugar content.
Do I drink sugary drinks? No.
Do I have sugar in my tea or coffee? No.
Do I eat candy? No.
Do I chew sugary gum? No.
And on and on and on.
And all of this while a small metal pick is scraping away at my teeth, poking my gums and making me bleed.
Then it hits me: Christmas!
"Werw, okorz, ova Kizmiz ah ade a lodda stuv..." I said, trying not to get my tongue under the metal instrument of torture.
So that's it. One week a year I let go and indulge in cookies, Christmas pudding, mince pies, chocolate truffles and cake and what do I get for Christmas?
A FUCKING CAVITY!
So the "You Gotta Floss" shit machine, strengthened by the "You Sugar Eating Loser" ammunition, rained down on me much harder than ever before. I would go so far as to say they were hailstones of poop.
And so, the wine, and the peanuts, and the strong likelihood that, seeing as Fluffy Bear is away at a conference, this is all I am going to have for dinner. Apart from a complete bar of chocolate, of course.
Fuck you, shit storm.
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