Last week at work was a combination of a co-worker being out and crazy deadlines for four spec books we had to pull together. How to impress the magnitude of the task without boring you... well, we usually have one of one kind of the book, but Department Head decided it would be better to split them up between two business lines, asset management and facilities management. This meant we had to take 12 years' historical data (building square footage and claims data) that is represented two ways: showing only those properties that are currently in the program, and also all the properties that have ever been in the program.
And we had to do this twice, once for each business line. So Active Claims Data is an Excel workbook with about 8 worksheets; ditto for All In Claims. And these are just two of about 15 files that comprise each book. And historically, the data were compiled by people not so good with the Excel. Add to that I get claims data reports from Claims Guy, who gives them to me A DAY before they have to be handed to the broker (did I mention there are two reports, from two different carriers, which means different column headings and formatting that have to be combined? And also much of the data we use as criteria for the project was missing?)
It's always a mess, always a scramble, it always sucks, only this time the other admin was out all week. So not only was I covering for her, I had this project to work on. Oh, and I had a stomach thing where I had to retreat to the bathroom regularly to curl up on the floor while stabbing pain shot across my abdomen.
But the worst part is that my boss and the pathological control issues she really needs to take to a professional therapist has been on my ass for no reason other than her paranoia. I don't appreciate her tone or her apparent assumption that being my employer entitles her to treat me like an indentured servant. I have been biting my tongue and being neutral to pacify her, but we are one rude, lecture-to-a-ten-year-old conversation away from me telling her to fuck off. I don't mean that metaphorically. I bend over backwards to make things work, and I don't seek out trouble, but when you back me into a corner and keep pressing, I will by God bite your face off.
So as I always do when I am stressed out and full of such rage that I'm imagining scenarios while I'm cleaning my house, and practicing telling my boss to fuck off, I take a look a the big picture. Because as Megan says in "Bridesmaids," "The problem isn't the world. The problem is you."
I don't mean that in the sense that my conduct is poor; I mean it in the sense that I can't let anyone but me decide my life. And if I don't like my life, I need to change it.
This weekend the weather was summer hot, and this kind of weather always makes me feel like I can do anything. I'm meteorologically bipolar. When I'm out in hot weather, I feel invincible. I saw a really fun play with Kevin (he gets free tickets as a reviewer), and took Monday off. I spent the day off the phone, doing laundry and painting my kitchen the yellow it has wanted to be. I love this, this independence, this self-determination, this understanding of who I am when I'm not at work and unhappy.
I've been budgeting heavily, but I'm re-joining the art studio in Greenleaf as an associate, have been working on some canvases, and plan to take a wheelthrowing class in June. I was a potter a long time ago, and I loved it; it's my kind of meditating. I need to focus on more creative activity, because the person I am inside is dying to come back out.
And I'm not sure how I feel about this, but I keep thinking a lot of this would be easier if I had someone to lean on. Granted, I've had few relationships where I could lean on my guy, but to have someone say, "Do what you need to do, if only for a little while. I have your back" would be huge.