Wednesday, September 27, 2006

Four letter word

This "work" thing just sucks. Imagine that they actually want me to DO STUFF to earn my pay. How rude. We are entering "the busy season". Now don't get me wrong, I always have enough to do thank you. But the last few months of the year are usually pretty crazy. It's the time when all projects need to be ramped up so they can be closed before the new year. All the things that were cancelled or put on the back burner or promised but not yet delivered, well, they are UNcacelled, put back on the front burner, and now we have to put up or shut up. Everybody is in the same boat, and we are all panicking trying to keep our keels above the waterline. That is the collective and euphamistic "we" of course. Because we all know where the work is being dumped and who is drowning, don't we? My household is showing the sure signs of my overwork. The counters are loaded with dishes. Which is odd, considering I haven't been cooking or serving for the most part, and fast food comes in paper and cardboard that gets tossed out. Where are the dishes coming from? Are the neighbours sneaking in their own food, eating it from our plates, then departing before we even knew they were here? Must be. Because I ain't be shopping, either and the cupboards they be bare. Poor DD muttered last night (when I directed her to get her own snack rather than whining to me that she is starving despite a gigantic fast food dinner that no doubt is clogging her arteries and ensuring my 'mother of the year' unaward) "if I eat one more cheese string or yogurt I am going to throw up". Apparently I need new variety in the line of snacks I supply that she can rummage for herself. I caught DH as well, wistfully eyeing the package of plain tortilla chips and wishing for some cheese dip - the kind I whip up, not the kind that comes in jars - before submitting and eating them with plain salsa. He was acting like he was a torture victim, or in a prison being subjected to swill, for goodness sake. Like he can't throw in a handful of shredded cheese and work the microwave by himself. Even Ruby gets in on the act, casting glances at her toys and heaving great sighs then plopping herself down on my feet. Occasionally she'll go get one (usually her bear, which is hilarious because it is almost as big as her and she carries it by the nose), then place a plaintive paw on my leg and stare right into my face with those adorable, bulgy, and normally irresistable eyes. But I really don't have time to play, unfortunately. In fact, just to write this small snippet I have given up a bathroom break. See what kind of sacrifices I am willing to make? I won't get my own daughter a snack or make dip for my husband or play with the dog, but I will sit and fidget for the next hour in the name of a few minutes of blogging. My sister is getting quite perturbed with me, because if she calls early I am working and if she calls later I have already gone to bed, exhausted. "You tell that girl to call me or she is in BIG TROUBLE", is the message that has been relayed to me. But tonight won't be her lucky night, because if I want to be caught up enough to watch my Thursday lineup of shows tomorrow I have to work basically nonstop until bedtime tonight. More fast food for the family I guess. DH and I had a bit of a spat last night, he is sick of fastfood burgers and burritos and take out chicken. I snapped at him "Did it ever occur to you that YOU could make dinner once in a while?". But what was I thinking. How can I expect the guy that won't stir cheese into his own salsa to cook an actual DINNER?!?! Oh the horrors of it all. I don't need a real name, just call me "What's for dinner?". Or more appropriately "What's eatin'?" because they bug me for other meals and snacks too. Again, Ruby gets in on the act. At the stroke of four (sometimes a bit before) she starts her menacing ways. First she stares through the spindles of the stair case. Then she gives a regular "oof" to let me know she is there. Then she starts true barks, which means I get wet because she spits when she barks. Sigh. No respect I tell you. When will that dog grow thumbs and start scooping out her OWN dinner. So that is my life right now. Working my arse off, stinging and tingling and aching arms and numb butt and sleep-buzzing legs and tired eyes and stiff back. Taking a few moments here and there to scream the word DEADLINE in answer to any request for food or attention. Forfeiting pee breaks to blog and eating only portable foods that don't mess up the keyboard because I have to take meals while I work. The circles under my eyes darken each time the phone rings or an email comes careening in...I can feel them. Fall is busy time. Fall is mucho travel season. Fall is ugly time because I sleep even less and work even more and traipse hither and yon as managers direct, while still manageing to keep the house (somewhat) together and my family in fast food and clean underwear. Even if that means buying MORE underwear in an airport gift shop because who has time for laundry when one can BUY clean undies in an airport gift shop and save some time for, you guessed it, more work. Stack the gazillion family birthdays and anniversaries and fall holidays on top of all that and....yeah. Ugly. Maybe this is why I always buy all new make-up in the fall, the wear it every day for two months before going back to my slovenly naked faced ways. Hmmmmm.

2 comments:

DancesInGarden said...

Just testing the comments.

Anonymous said...

Maybe you should buy DH a cookbook -- you know the one for junior cooks [kids] I think I still have mine Betty Crocker's as I recall... It would be about his speed.... poor guy - can't even make a sandwich...