the_siobhan | I'M NOT AT WORK!! (Reply)

I am not working tonight. I am not working tomorrow. Hot fucking damn. I have no idea yet what I am going to end up doing tonight, but I do not intend to let this go to waste. I suspect it will involve beer, and I bloody well intend for it to involve sex.

Raar.

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I know exactly what I am doing tomorrow, the wife and I are going to go git ourselves somma that there culture. We're going to catch a play or two at the Stratford Festival.

The last play I saw there was a Chekov. Which is when I discovered that I love Chekov.

One of the women I work with is Russian, and when she discovered that this weird borderline-looking individual with the scary haircut had not only heard the names Tolstoy and Chekov and Kafka, but could actually talk about their writing, she decided that I was Cool and warmed up to me immediately. And loaned me a bunch of books. I am currently wading through her copy of Master & Margarita by Bulgakov. And it's wonderful -- seriously twisted and surreal and funny social commentary besides.

Maybe I should lend her some Findley and Richler and Ondajie just to keep things even.

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One of the women I work with gets called Sybil by a few of her co-workers because of her radical mood-swings. She can go from friendly to bitchy faster than anybody I have ever seen. (And I hang around with Goths and French people, so I know of which I speak.)

Her bitchiness is a weird mix of in-you-face and passive-aggressive. She won't actually directly address the fact that you did something to piss her off, but what she will do is make loud commentary about it while glaring at you to ensure that you know for sure you are the one she is talking about.

People react to this in a variety of ways. Mostly by complaining about it behind her back. One guy told me he flat-out refused to talk to her for several weeks after she did it to him.

She did it to me today and I couldn't help myself. I burst out laughing.

I think the people I work with find my reactions a little odd. There was a screaming, hissing, spitting cat-fight between two people once that had the entire place in an uproar for days, and the entire time it was going on I was hiding behind the stacks of blood boxes with a corner of my lab-coat stuffed in my mouth trying to muffle the sounds of my laughter.

Working in places like this remind me of just how little I have in common with normal people.

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I have a date for my surgery.

I have already instructed the people at work that if the East
General Hospital should happen to put in a call for extra blood
on September 9th, they will fucking well give it to them.

And yeah, I'm scared out of my snot.

One good thing, I checked out the goverment Employment Insurance website, and it looks like I'm covered by them for time off. So all my friends can stop nagging me to remember to rest. (Sheesh. I think I've been called stubborn by every single person I know in the last couple of weeks.)

Now my only concern is not going completely nuts from all this relaxation.

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I took one of those on-line longevity tests a little while ago.

It says I'll live to be 32.

Much hilarity ensued.