, LSaturday, June 21, 2008
For Mashed get Smashed
Where to start?
You know most of the four-part harmony to this but I have been fairly quiet for a while, so to recap: I am involved in an on-going court case – can't discuss details.
Homophobic puss of a rancid nether meat.
I had a really shitty couple of days, Thursday and Friday and just as we were heading for a resolution, the whole thing was adjourned 'til July. I now have to go back to work on Monday with the vile accusations and character assassinations of my colleagues, ringing in my ears. I am in a limbo and although I am not primarily based in the same office as the people I was in court with, I have various meetings to attend, essential for my job, that they will also be required to attend. I am unable to focus on anything else. I just want someone to hit me over the head with a shovel and send me to sleep until the rehearing. I am so close to cracking and saying, 'fine, you win; I can't take on a corporation; I am too weak."
I met my solicitor and barrister, for the first time, in the foyer on Thursday morning. I was just musing to myself, that I should have had a Guardian under one arm and a red carnation, when I remembered that I was in a bright purple wheelchair! Not many of those to the pound. (bad analogy; the pound's nigh on extinct and I'm a dinosaur.)
Thursday was such a rubbish day: my witness and cross examination, that it trashed Pingu, my friend, who had agreed to come along to turn the pages of the file for me. Pingu is a crazy, pot-throwing, paint-hurling, creative type, unused to office or court-type environments and the full-on day was too much for her. We left home at 7.30am and got back at 6.40pm. Her partner phoned me at 8.30pm to say, "You've killed Pingu." I tried to get a replacement page-turner but gave up at 10.30pm and went to bed.
Fortunately, sleeping is one of the things that I do best.
After the calamity that was Friday, I found myself trying not to cry. I was an hour from my pick-up time, miles from home, sans Pingu; trying to get a coffee; not cry; negotiate the 'not-quite-thought-it-through' dropped curbs and not cry. A woman saw me struggling and stopped wiping the tables at Starbucks, crossed the road, helped me to a table, brought me a coffee and spoke so pleasantly, with no ulterior motive or trickery, that I almost experienced an emotion. (refer to para 3 subsection ii in your bundle; headed "When I was dumped"…"you wouldn't know a real emotion, if it slapped you in the face.")
I got home to a big buff envelope, embossed with the company logo and strap-line. Slapped across the bottom of the near-side, was a fluorescent sticker, championing,"A Fair Deal for a Flexible Workforce." It was an HR document, detailing a new TUPE proposal for all green book employees. I didn't have the energy to laugh. The contents are irrelevant but the sound-byte is priceless.
I spent the majority of the evening on the phone with, 'She who shall not…' (Oh, yes; that's all still very much unresolved. I'm an emotional cripple and should learn to take my own advice!) Talking's great but I just wanted a hug.
My brother came over and helped me to consume vast quantities of alcohol, in a bitter/cider/curry combo. Mmm, my breath is ripe this morning.
I dreamed I was in a dock, facing the Queen of Hearts, who was shrieking, "Collar that Dormouse, behead that Dormouse turn that Dormouse out of court. Suppress him! Pinch him! Off with his whiskers! ..." It's a quote from an Alice in Wonderland play that I was in, when I was 12!
I'm dreading Monday.
Currently listening:
Freeborn John: The Story of John Lilburne-The Leader of the Levellers
By Rev Hammer
Best wishes KB.
