• Ooooh - I'm considered "faculty" --  Oooooh -- lar-di-dah.   Bleh.  

• That is why I am sitting in this meeting.  Bleh.  This 3 and half hour meeting..Bleh Bleh.

• About 1.5 percent of the vast quantity of words which will be spewed out in this 3 and half hour meeting will be relevant to me. The principal can talk under wet cement.  

• The academics are rowdy and verbose.  

• I want to Texas Chainsaw them all

• Gross.  I don't like cutting into flesh -- so I will just telepathically make them think they have no lips or tounges and cannot speak.

• If I look up and to the right I seem to listen and comprehend better.

• I wonder if that is a physio/psychological thingo

• I don't want to listen, so I will wiggle my thumbs.

• The thumbnail on my right hand looks like a toenail.  Bleh

• What are they saying...hmmm...hmmmm.hmmmm.  I'm nodding in the speaker's direction to indicate interest

• We are at the "ratification" stage of an "action" resulting from a point "tabled" about 3 meetings ago and people are saying: "What the hell is this??"  Sheeesh.  Even I remember this one.  Shit - now they are debating it all over again.  These are supposed to be smarty panty people. "A wonderful robust discussion" says the principal smiling...I personally think he's eaten a brain tumor.

• Why do they bother putting a time deadline on each section of the agenda eg: Review of minutes: 10 minutes.  What are joke - it was 40 minutes.   Who reviews Minutes for 40 minutes???   I'm saying "minutes" too many times...it's spooky like my life is ticking away

• The chair is useless.  Why doesn't she move it on.   No she's not useless..it's the chief's  fault..she's only allowed to be chair when it suits him..otherwise he just overrides her.

• We all seethe.  I can feel the inward hisses.

• I hope I can go after my bit.  It is the "unspoken" agreement

• My ovaries hurt

• "Have a conversation"  -- who the hell thought that one up.  You hear it everywhere nowadays.  Damn management speak.

• We have been here for 1 and half hours and we are still on point 2.  In the words of Rove "What tha'??"

• There are 16 points.

• I want to cry...but I can't...it would get me out of here though if I had a spontaneous tear bursting. That would be a handy super-power.   I wonder if I can fake a sniffle....

• Ooooh - the all staff Halloween/birthday morning tea...I can hear them right outside the door. I wonder if we can go???

• ***********20 minutes later****************************

• Obviously not.....**sigh**

• ************10 minutes later************************

• We went...Yaaaayayyy....

• Nearly up to my bit on the agenda.  I'm a standing item. 

• What the hell will I say?

• Now I'm back at my desk.  I said...I answered....I dribbled and was dismissed. I tried not to smile too widely as I gathered my things and walked out the door. 

• But I saw jealous scowls.

• Spose I better do something though. 

• Hope they won't audit my internet use and find this.    "Luuuucy - you got some 'splainin' to do..."

• **sigh**

It’s self indulgent to write this way I know. But I’m really trying to get up the courage to tell people what I want in my assistant.   I find if I write these things out, I will remember them and perhaps be able to articulate what I want rather than be swept away in the tide of other agendas.  

So what do I want in my library assistant?  I’ll tell you what I want. The reasoning may not sound professional,  but it’s as simple as this:  

• I want someone I can work with! 
• I want someone who doesn’t feel the need to mark their territory (emphasising their smarts – whilst belittling mine –it’s a common technique)
• I want someone I can bounce ideas off, who will bounce them gently back and not feel the need to throw ball back hard in my face.
• I want someone who is happy to take instruction from me. 
  
• I want someone I am comfortable giving instruction to.
• I want someone who doesn’t feel demeaned by basic processes, and therefore make me feel bad for giving them basic processes to do as part of their position
• I want someone to feel achievement in the day to day successes rather than the big picture.
• I want someone who can be innovative with processes, and change them if need  be – but not sneer at what came before.
• I want someone who can understand my sometimes muddled way of speaking
• I want someone who will take care of the minutiae.
• I want someone who will help me fulfil bigger vision because they take care of the minutiae.
• I want someone who is genuine. I don’t want fake smile and warmth. 
• I want someone who doesn’t have extreme mood swings.

It's a weird kind of selection criteria isn't it?  Obviously it didn't go on the original ad.  This is just for me.

I wish I’d written all this out before the recruitment even started.   Obviously I’m still getting over the hire of Crispy Cream, and am terrified I will recreate Godzilla.  What a disaster that was. 

***wavy lines back in time***

My colleague and I hired a woman as an assistant.   A “knowing” woman who sized up the situation within days and realised from her point of view anyway – that she had landed in gold.   That the two in charge were “nice” women, who didn’t want to make scenes, who backed off from moodiness, who listened politely to endless stories even as it ate into their work time;  who passive-aggressively muttered under their breath about excessive absenteeism, but recoiled at actual confrontation.

She definitely had a skill at reading people, and knew how to turn that to her advantage. Like most bullies however she would back off if someone with a spine called her to task on her behaviour. I unfortunately was not born with a spine.  She seemed to take especial delight in demeaning me in ever so subtle ways at least she must have thought they were subtle or that I was too dumb to notice.  Backward compliments were her forte; but she had a mastery at really making me look stupid in front of executives usually with a well timed quip about a mistake I had made or openly contradicted me in front of them. Not  only that she would promote her role in front of them as well, and because she was so articulate some of them thought she was the new head and not the lowly assistant.  I had bleated out a few soft shoe complaints about her behaviour to higher management, but she would charm them, and they would tell me they couldn't see a problem, and perhaps I suffering some kind of delusion and should get some help. 

She had a huge chip on her should about being an assistant. She had years of experience and no qualifications and it burnt her up inside that a stupid moron such as myself would be in charge of her. And so she set about exposing me, stripping me down layer by layer until my nerves were raw…just one comment at a time; one tantrum at a time; one "hurt feeling" at at time.    And then she would turn around again and be immensely charming and sweet and it was oh so sweet like too much fairy floss, but I would play the game and respond appropriately even though her physical proximity to me made me feel dizzy and nauseas. But she would think I had succumbed again to her charm, and rejoice in my gullibility. In some ways I guess – I was just as good an actor as she was.   But I’m not proud of that. I ended up leaving that place – figuratively crawling out on my hands and knees. And that was two years ago. I believe she’s still there. I should get over it.

**wavy lines back to the present**
 

The weird thing is that this isn't the first time I've had someone determined to put me in my place; to demonstrate my stupidy or if you like to demean my intelligence whist inflating their own, and who seem to resent my "position" in life whether it be at work or home.  What position?   I'm not particularly competitive and I'm definately not the sharpest knife the draw. My parents aren't rich.  I've never scaled high on the academic or career ladder and am unlikely to do so. I just muddle along as best I can.  They extend the hand of friendship but a conversation will never go past without them sticking the knife and twisting it..just a little bit.  All in good humour you see...we're just friends having a laugh.    And I leave them with a sense of disquiet and a determination to avoid them.  

Am I a bully magnet? I never thought of that before.   
 

A excerpt of a letter from my father writing about a recent long distant train trip.

“I had the window seat, for your mother likes to visit the bathroom more than I do. There was a chap sitting directly in front of me. I could not see him because of the height of the seat, but when I looked out of the window, I could see his face reflected in the glass – and he was always chewing…gum, I suppose, but as I looked I became at first intrigued, then irrationally irritated by the rhythmic motion of his jaws. They never ceased: chompchompchomphchompchompchompchompchomp hour after long hour. You will understand this strange curse of the Mitchells Heather. I wanted to stop watching, and did from time to time, but then my eyes would be drawn inevitably to the window again, and to those ceaseless moving jaws…”

My grandma’s maiden name was Mitchell, and despite being the sweetest woman in the world, she had it. Apparently her father had it. My father has it. Probably his siblings have it. I have it, and possibly some of my siblings and cousins have it also.   My father calls it “The Curse of the Mitchells”.   And what is this curse? It’s the bizarre fascination of watching someone innocently doing something in an unconscious and rhythmic way for anymore than say 30 seconds, and then growing increasingly irritated by the action. And even though you have the free-will to look away and ignore it, you can’t….

I mentioned my irritation to your mother by way of making conversation but she could not see him; nor did she want to, for she does not suffer from the same curse, as you know……

Darkness descended and everyone was reflected starkly in the train windows, which were better than mirrors. I looked through the window, and there was the chomper in the seat in front, now vividly reflected, still chomping away tirelessly. I nudged your mother and pointed surreptitiously without speaking. She leaned over and looked. “I’ll bet he must have very strong jaws!” she commented. Your mother’s voice is like Andy’s.  It carries effortlessly over long distances, and typically, she made no attempt at dropping her voice a decibel or two. The man’s ears were only about a metre away anyway. I glanced at the window. The jaws had stopped in mid-chomp and the owner had his head cocked in our direction. I wish the train floor could have swallowed me, if not your mother….

Oh dear.   Many a time have I sat on public transport my eyes transfixed on some poor sod blithely doing what comes naturally and never knowing how their small action was affecting the purseylipped, piggyfaced woman in the corner. Let me highlight some examples.

Finger nail chewer:  The kind that are having a real good gnaw at their nails, and the skin around them, chewing the tops and the sides, and doing it one finger at time. Stop for a quick evaluation of the saliva soaked digit, and then onto the next one. It makes me want to throw up..but I can’t look away.

Nose picker: Not the gentle “I don’t have a tissue kind”, but the ones who have a good root around and examine the contents and then have another root away. I want to throw up…but I can’t look away. 

Sniffers:  I'm not sure if this is strictly a Mitchell Curse because  a) I don't sit and watch in morbid fascination and if at all feasible I move far far away and/or exterminate the offender and b) Most people I know find this irritating.  It's not just me.

The hair twirler. Not all hair twirling drives me insane. I worked with a twirler. It was kind of cute, as she usually did it when in deep concentration and then half an hour later her head would be adorned with Shirley Temple coils. No I’m talking about the person who takes one strand of hair and twists it round and round and round and round and round. And I’m watching them and after a while I want to kill them.  I used to catch a bus each morning for about 20 minutes. About two stops after I got on, a woman would catch the same bus. She would always sit in the same seat (as did I…behind her). Immediately she would pick a section of hair from the crown of her head and start twirling it. Always the same section. I swear there was a bald patch commencing. It drove me crazy, but I could never look away.

Knuckle crackers: Please don’t crack your knuckles in my presence. I can’t abide it looking at it or hearing it. And yet I’ve sat next to people who can do it for at least half an hour. It makes me want to throw up, but I can’t look away.

The masticator: It could be chewing gum, or chips or indeed any kind of edible. If it’s rhythmic and/or loud I grow irritated, but some I just find fascinating. My husband and I used to look forward to seeing a young woman on the station every morning, who’d always arrive with something amazingly greasy (especially for 7am) like a sausage roll, or bacon and egg roll and a coke and would devour it in the same way each morning, but incredibly swiftly and silently and then lick her fingers with relish at the end. Every single morning.

Finger Lickers: Apart from the one in the paragraph above.   I do not like finger lickers. I hate watching people eat cheesy corn chips and lick their fingers after every handful, and then watch their saliva soaked fingers delve in again and again and again. I worked with a finger  licker, and I loathed this woman. But I don’t think I loathed her because she was a finger-licker. I think I came to loath finger-licking because of her.

Fidgets.  Not all the time. It depends on what the particular fidget it is. My husband is a fidgety person.   If he can’t find something to pick up or tap or fiddle with, then his thumbs will suffice. I watch with fascination for a while at the agility of the humble thumb. . It’s jazzercise for thumbs because there’s always a discernable pattern

Example :
Two bends with right thumb; two bends with left thumb
Left thumb twirl; right thumb twirl,
Press together,
Twirl both thumbs anticlockwise
Repeat. 

And then after a while – fascination turns into intense irritation, and I cover his hands with mine, shake my head and say sternly “dear…” 

I am an irritable old cow aren’t I? But what can you do when you’re cursed.

For reasons I won’t disclose here, and I hasten to add with R’s blessing, I  chose not to attend an event being held at our house tonight.  I only found out 2 days ago that it was going to happen and decided that I was too mentally unstable to be present.   I told R I would find a friend and disappear. I don’t have a lot of friends to choose from, and generally they need more than one day to make plans. I usually need to book them at least 2 weeks in advance. And besides,  it does not sit well with me to use my friends as an excuse not to do something else, and so I did not try. I know how it feels to find out later that you were merely an excuse for a so called friend to get out of something even more mundane than your company, or to find out you were a second choice because someone else couldn’t make it. Well actually I don’t mind being 2^nd choice as long as this fact is divulged at the time of invitation or not at all.  Quite a number of years ago, I decided to accept the fact that I was in in essence a loner who didn’t need a lot of friends, and truthfully I can’t cope well with too much humanity. I decided I  would rather have a few good friends  than a gaggle of acquaintances who call themselves friends but don’t deserve the title.     Hmmm..now can you see how my story has digressed..it must be that being mental thing.

So anyway I found a friend. And I will call her Fugly. But this is okay because she has naturally high self-esteem and is invisible. So Fugly and I decided to go and see a movie. We would have liked to have gone into the city but we wouldn’t have made it for the early evening sessions and so we went to local cinema. We saw Ghost Town which we both enjoyed. Ricky Gervais’s character was a bit emotionally retarded and had cringe worthy moments, but nothing like he is in The Office. It’s actually a bit disconcerting to see him relatively normal.  And thus concludes my review. 

 The credits had barely started to roll at the end, and I was up out of my seat racing to the toilets to beat the crowd of fellow females, and then OUT OF nowhere -  3 broadsided elderly women appeared - Apparated!!! – if you like -  right in front of me,  and then walked 3 abreast slowly,  hips swaying from side to side (not in a sexy way mind you..in an old lady way...not that it matters either way..), chatting and giggling all the way to the ladies, and I had no way of getting past them This always happens to me.  Insult to injury – they got the last 2 cubicles, one of which was obviously and rightfully mine.  One of the oldies missed out which meant that I was in a queue. Bah!   I didn’t want to stand there jiggling about, and neither did Fugly,  so scooted out of there, and raced downstairs to the other toilets no-one ever remembers exists. But I do. Haha –  so  there old witches. I bet I finished my wee and was back in the car-park before you’d even got your girdles pulled up.  Which would be impressive if I didn’t spend a good 10 minutes driving around the carpark looking for the exit.   Those WAY OUT signs just seemed to go in circles. I wondered if I was asleep having one of those surreal nightmares where you are trapped inside something and can’t get out. Well after about the 10^th circuit, I finally worked it out, and  waved bye bye  to the shopping trolley collector guy, because we’d become good mates by this time.

So by now,  it was shortly after 9 and I knew from past experience that the event being held in our house would be no-where near over.  This is why it would have been better going to the city. I’d have a lovely long train trip to fill in almost another hour.  And there’s always something to dawdle over and look at in the city but not so where I live.  So I decided to  drive up to a MacDonalds located a suburb away, even though I was not hungry having consumed a box of popcorn and a giant coca cola at the cinema. But it was something to do. So drove up to MacDonald’s. There were a bunch of youths hanging around a couple of cars at the carpark who looked a bit menacing, but I had Fugly with me, so drove in confidently and parked quite near to them.   Those lads looked liked they’d been hanging about for ages and had no intention of moving. MacDonalds looked delightfully empty -  but as soon as I went to open my car door to get out, the youths decided in one telepathic moment, that they would now go inside but not before forming a barrier in front of me, forcing me to slowly trail behind them. I could not get through or around them. Fugly was fricken useless. And so the empty MacDonalds became full. And I was number 7 in line. Can you believe it? Well – I guess it didn’t matter cos I was trying to kill time. On closer inspection, the youths weren’t the scary menacing types at all. Bit embarrassing really. These were examples of the species “Man-Child". They were   probably no more than 15 or 16  (despite some impressive whiskers) I’m fascinated by the look of some teenage boys. Some of them I stare at on public transport which must be kind of creepy for them. There are some boys that don’t seem quite finished off. You can still see their childish features, but can also glimpse the men they will become. At this point in time, they are still forming. They are embryonic. Some you know are going to be lookers but they aren’t there yet, and others you just pray they have a good personality. Oh there’s that digressing thing again. 

So I had a horrible burger and chips and a coffee and started scribbling in my notebook.   Then Fugly and I went for a bit more of a drive, It was about 10.15 at this point, and I thought hopefully the people at the event have gone, or packing up. When I got home I couldn’t park – they were still there.   I walked in. They were having tea and nibblies, and I thought “Beauty! I can have a farewell cuppa with them and then I don’t look like I’m too mentally deranged.   I was therefore a tinsy put out to find out that the tea was in fact only the half way mark. They were actually here for another hour and a bit. They didn’t know that I was put-out..because I can be  charming….mental…but charming”.   It wasn’t that hard. I don’t dislike these people. I just didn’t want to have to be charming for too long. It makes me tired.

So I have found out that this event is being held at our house again next month. I prefer to have this much notice, so I can either

a)      Psyche myself up – and attend OR

b)      ROAD TRIP!!! Hey Fugley – pack your bags

• Scuse my French
  
• A gentle reminder
  
• Steal your thunder...
  
• At the end of the day...
  
• Going forward

Scuse my French.  People say it after expressing a profanity.  Don't.  If you are going to swear..just swear. Fucking shuddup about French…it’s dumb.  

A gentle reminder:   Always written in the subject line of emails from a super efficienent colleague.  Why gentle?    I don’t mind being reminded..but why gently. Why?? It just sends a shiver of irritation up and down my spine.

Steal your thunder: Okay – there is a personal story here. In the year leading up to my wedding, my youngest brother managed to get himself engaged and married a couple of months before me even though he was quite aware of my date.   He’d known his bride from about 12 months, I’d known my man-bride for six years. Snicker. Truly that didn’t bother me. Please believe that. But before it all happened he rang up and said “I’m sorry – to steal your thunder..but radda radda radda…”   And that phrase was bandied about many others “…oooh…your brother stole your thunder…ooooh”. But I was happy the thunder was stolen. It took a lot of attention off me and I liked that. But the straw that broke the camel’s back was an unrelated incident, when my good friend called up a week after I adopted my cat (who happened to be a neurotic, 8 year old Siamese), to tell me she had got herself a free, beautiful 8 week old male Siamese who wasn’t neurotic and who’s personality was hers to shape and mould…unlike my poor mentally damaged feline. And she started off the conversation with “Hello Huffypeg….How’s your cat….now I’m sorry to steal your thunder…."  Sheeesh.

At the end of the day:  I hate this one, and I’m even guilty of saying it. It’s such a nonsense phrase. In my experience people just say it to mean “there’s got to be a decision and it’s going to be this…or that….?”   Well doh!

Going Forward.   All corporations are going forward. This is a favourite. They’re either going or moving in a forward direction. I worked for an organization which adopted “Going Forward” as part of their mission or value statement. I’m sure they paid someone a lot of money to figure this one out and they probably thought it was original.  I didn’t care that this phrase appeared in glossy advertisement, or exhorted on the staff intranet. It’s just white noise. But it utterly astounded and dismayed me the way our managers picked up this phrase with enthusiasm and gusto, incorporating  it into nearly every conversation, with a naturalness that was truly amazing and disturbing . I was always looking for the “smirk” but never caught it in amongst all their other earnest words.  What could I expect – these are the kind of people who genuinely love team building exercises. I know particularly towards the end of my time there, that some of these managers thought I was one slice short of a sandwich, but at least I wasn’t a wanker.   Nowadays I howl with mirth (or maybe hysteria) whenever I come across it.  It’s probably good I’m not still there.

Musical instruments
all of which I can play – but badly. Reason: Good at sight reading notes, very bad at counting, practicing tedious and therefore not done

• Piano
  
• Recorders (varying sizes) – Have an on and off love affair with the instrument but then there's that practice thing you know.
  
• Tin Whistles – Tried to be interested due to someone else's interest. Love the sound, hate playing them
  
• Clarinet
  
• Violin – had a brain snap one day and bought one off the internet. Have had a terms worth of lessons, and can play 8 notes. May go back but told R couldn't be bothered for the rest of this year. Probably not destined to be Yehudi Menuhin
  

Art

• Terracotta pots – for creating exotic pots with interesting designs. They are still terracotta
  
• Special paint for terracotta pots. Never opened
  
• Good art paint brushes – asked R to get them for me for Christmas as I was going to paint terracotta pots
  
• Stencil cutters – to make creative stencils for the terracotta pots
  
• Acrylic paints – for painting masterpieces
  
• Good sketching pencils – for sketching masterpieces. Used for writing phone messages
  
• Mini sketchpads – for my brilliant spontaneous sketches of real life. Never used
  
• Books on learning to draw, figure drawing, stenciling and folk art.
  

Writing

• Several unfinished short stories and non-fiction pieces which I was going to go back to later after I’d had a cup of tea
  

Language

• Textbooks and CDs for Italian, French and Japanese. I can’t speak or understand any of them. Desidera?; 私を赦免しなさい; pardonnez-moi;
  

Exercise

• Good running shoes for training for the City to Surf. So far only used to run to catch the 7.20am bus on time
  
• Books about running. Surprisingly - very well read, but information not translated into actual running.
  
• Expired gym memberships – about 4. Usually managed 3 visits in 12 month period
  

Weightloss

• Loads of Slimming magazines
  
• Weight Watcher Booklets - six issues from six visits. I think there are at least 12 or 18booklets in the series for the first three months of attendance
  
• Diet food purchased for new super diet to make a new super slim me. Untouched in favour of Macdonalds Macdonalds, Kentucky Fried Chicken n' a Pizza Hut!
  

• “Your seniors card is just around the corner”
  
• “Cheap PBS medication is yours…all yours for the taking”.
  
• “Put your name down for “Twilight Hours Nursing Home now, or miss out….”