Shoots

A while ago I mentioned, inter alia, my delusional freesias. Well, they're at it again. I don't know whether they were prompted by what my favourite biologist once termed "an insulting increase in temperature" -- it was, as it happens, unseasonably warm yesterday, but this process has been under way for a week or two -- or whether they're just naturally early risers. Either way, the green shoots of spring are nudging optimistically upwards here in the middle of autumn. I mean, the clocks haven't even gone back yet -- that's one of this weekend's little joys -- don't these flowers have calendars, diaries, PDAs and such? Tsk.

I'm not overly concerned, since they got by well enough the last time -- and indeed seem to have multiplied, in that interestingly asexual way bulbs/corms/whatever do -- but still. I can't help thinking that if I were a tender green shoot I'd much rather remain cosily underground for a few more months and let nasty Mr Winter wear himself out before I made my entrance.

Oh look, it's that hibernation fantasy again. Regular as clockwork.

Yesterday was my sister's birthday, which was celebrated with food, drink and conviviality; a good time was had by all. I fear, though, that our birthday girl might have been somewhat eclipsed by the ever-adorable young Samson, over whom everyone seems doomed to "ooh" and "aah" endlessly, even those as hard-hearted as me. Ah well. Dorigen is upbeat enough, and there are worse fates than being upstaged by your own child.

I might have made the odd, passing, veiled allusion to this once or twice recently, but for the record: I fucking hate work. Partly this is just my innate laziness -- you want me to what? -- and partly it's the nature of what I do, what I've always done. Probably very little of it is to do with my particular employment, many aspects of which are relatively optimal. Still, there are things, sometimes, about this particular employment, that drive me to distraction; and times when I just want to curl up in a fœtal position on the floor in the middle of the open plan office and wail and weep for hours.

You can get away with that sort of thing at Sammy's age, but it doesn't play so well at mine.

I'm better at maintaining an appropriate distance than I used to be, but I do still have a tendency to take job stuff a bit personally. When something doesn't work as it should, I feel personally responsible. When decisions are made that I disagree with, I feel personally affronted. When I make a mistake, or when somebody else makes a mistake under my guidance, it's the end of the fucking world. I have an overdeveloped sense of duty -- and at the same time a schizoid, despairing irresponsibility that tries ever so hard not to care at all.

Which of those is writing this, do you think?

Alongside all that, there are one or two inter-personal stresses at the office that I can't quite navigate. I get on pretty well with most of the people I work with closely, and some of them I like a great deal. (A couple are also very easy on the eye, but that's another story.) But one in particular seems to have taken a dislike to me -- or rather, to be adopting an ironically malevolent stance as an outlet for his feelings, which are more complex than mere hate but certainly include it. This is the I want to fuck you guy, an intense conversationalist when loosened by alcohol, terse and hostile in sobriety.

That, obviously, is his problem, not mine.

If only it were so simple.

The trouble is, I am plagued by doubt. Does that even begin to convey the overwhelming, neurotic, paralyzing terror of it? Probably not. Doubt, as in: "What the fuck are you asking me for? I don't know what you should do. I don't understand the problem and I don't understand why you're asking me about it. Can't you see I don't know anything about anything at all? What kind of moron are you, that you'd ask someone as patently worthless and incompetent as me for input? Why haven't you sacked me already, for crying out loud? Are you that braindead?" And so on.

On that basis, if somebody has a problem with me, my null hypothesis has to be that I am the problem. And I have been enough times over the years that I can't just push it aside as a self-flagellating delusion. Being a human being takes a lot of practice; I'm starting to get to grips with the rudiments, but there's so much left to learn. Have I been mistreating this chap? Am I too offhand or flippant? Too grumpy and short-tempered? Too familiar or not familiar enough?

Who the fuck knows?

And meanwhile, people keep coming and asking me for things, many of which I know how to do but don't have time for, some of which are just incomprehensible, and all I can do is tread water and mouth platitudes and try to find time to do the things I've already taken on, and other people are doing things for me and need hand-holding and encouragement and direction, and...

Well. Anyway.

It's been one of those weeks.
Posted by matt at October 28, 2005 10:53 PM