Miscellaneous ramblings of the disconnected sort

Lord Almighty, but it is HOT here! In the triple digits and quickly climbing so much so that the middle number will no longer be a zero. Ooof!

Temperatures like this of course mean that I feel like a sweaty, sticky pig. Ew. It doesn't help that the building that I am in currently has airconditioning that only works when it feels like it. That is to say, erratically. But never fear! A work order has been sent out! They should get to it with the two technicians they have for the entire freaking base by, say, oh, about mid-July. :- Good thing I'll be out on medical leave by then.

And let's not talk about having to actually walk between my building and my car. Heat makes me breathe more, which makes me wheeze more, which makes my heart race. Not a good combination when you feel like you're going to have a freaking coronary just getting to your car. This surgery cannot come soon enough, I tell you!

. . .

This weekend should be rather interesting. Tomorrow The Husband and I will be dumping Thing One and Thing Two with their Godmother and heading off to Oxnard for the annual Loving Marriage Seminar. This seminar is supposed to be so good that they keep it a secret from anyone who hasn't attended what it's all about. Right. Because being a good Christian means that we keep secrets of marriage success to ourselves and only hand them out to those so priveledged to be deemed worthy to receive them.

If we hadn't been waiting so long to go to this seminar that I rescheduled my surgery for it, I would be very tempted not to show up. The Husband kind of feels this way as well.

First off, I/we hate secrets of this nature. It's one thing if you are given who the speakers at a seminar are and what they will be talking about. That's an acceptable level of secret to me for a seminar. You know the general topic, but they're not going to hand you a copy of their speech, right? No problem.

But this? Nobody will tell us anything. Not if there are going to be speakers, if it's just going to be a Bible study, if it's going to be exercises of some variety - nada. And it's driving me insane.

And then we're expected to not tell anyone else about it either. Oh, but we're supposed to make couples feel good about it if they're one of the lucky ones who get to go next year. Or we might be recruited to help at the next one! Yeah, right! Secret keepers are us. NOT!

Remind me again why I postponed my surgery for this? Please? *sigh*

. . .

I am sick and tired (and tired always follows sick) of being either asked the same thing over and over again or being told the same whiney song and dance over and over again. This is being done by two well-meaninged, but ultimately annoying, older gentlemen in my office.

The first one at least has an excuse. He was recently out on medical disability because he fell down a flight of stairs at work here and broke oh, just about all the major long bones on his left-hand side. And this was only 8 months after he had two spinal surgeries. He blacked out and was alone in the stairwell for at least two hours, possibly more, so if he doesn't remember things too well, I try not to get annoyed with him.

We used to work for the same company, but when the contract was re-bidded, we ended up being on separate companies. Now, he gets these e-mails from my old company sending him to websites to do their mandatory training and keeps asking me if I had problems with them. I don't work for the same company that you do anymore, dude. I say this at LEAST three or four times every. Single. Week. This week? I've said it at least three times a day. I try to be polite, but after a month or so, you tend to get a bit batty from the constant questions that have the same answer. My timecard sheet? Not the same company. Employee intranet? Not the same company. Get the picture yet? Aaaaaugh!

The other gentleman? Well, he doesn't have an excuse. He's just a leech. He likes to glom onto you and tell you his latest woes. Which happen to be the same woes he told you about last week. And the week before. And the week before that.

Due to a system that shall not be named out loud for fear it will take over my entire life, a system that was *supposed* to make us all work faster, better and more efficiently but has instead ended up costing the gummint much more than they anticipated, this second older gentleman has been without a computer onsite for over a year. And because of my position, he had to deal with me every time he needed changes made to a specific document. No big deal, right? I can do that.

But then he thought I was his best friend in the whole wide world and his leech-e-ness came into play. He now must tell me of all the indignations he has suffered because of Ehn-ehm-see-eye and his not having a computer, about how he got kicked out of the software building because people didn't like him, and how he needs to have surgery on his foot but he doesn't know if he can afford it. And his foot is considered pre-gangreneous. Gah!

I have considered getting a blowtorch and bringing it to work just so that I can singe him every time he starts to leech on me because isn't that how you get a leech to release from sucking your blood? By touching it with a match? Or is that a tick? Anyway, same principle.

I am sick unto death of acting like a lady and being polite and saying the nice things when all I want to do is start screaming the minute one of them begins talking to me. Deep breaths. I'm getting all worked up about this. In. Out. In. Out. I can do this . . .

. . .

Anyway, I'll be gone until Monday and then I'll update you on the damn super-top-secret marriage seminar weekend thingie because dammit if I'm not a rebel. Somebody's got to break the silence! The Repression Must Cease! The end.