How shall I begin today�s entry? Shall I tell the story of Dr. No and the Bulimic Bank Account, in which our hero creates a budget for himself, only to discover after some careful calculation that by all rights, he should be mortgaging his vital organs to pay for groceries by now, given his rash expenditures? Or maybe the tale of 20,000 Leagues Under the Paperwork, in which Sophie sends our hero on yet another fool�s errand through Filing Purgatory, this time petitioning him to bring order to a veritable stockpile of ancient reports, which have sat untouched for two years, but are suddenly in dire need of organization.
Let�s start with that last one. What the hell is up with record keeping at non-profits? Every non-profit I�ve worked for (admittedly, only two) has had the most primitive and unruly filing system seen on this planet since the alphabet was invented. Like, even dogs and squirrels can remember where they stored their shit for the winter, and Sophie can�t even recall what happened to last week�s projections. And so, I get sent into the scary back room to root through these boxes full of musty reports, which I have to sort three different ways before I can even think about actually filing it all.
As I�m distributing papers and reports into thirty-five different piles, Sophie comes up to me and goes, �How soon will this be done? By Monday?� and I�m like, �Sure�Monday. November 3rd, 2008.� What is it about authority that causes one to lose all sense of perspective? Time and space are exactly the same in my continuum as in yours, Sophie. The various laws of physics still apply.
Managers are like that, though. We�re all realists, and managers seem to be more like, I dunno�cubists. Ever notice that? To managers, we�re all rhomboid, with Shannen Doherty eyes, and all reports can be finished in the space of an hour. I�ve never understood that! One has to climb in order to reach the top of the ladder, no? So how did these people manage to get into a position of authority without ever having been harangued by some conehead in a three-piece suit who didn�t understand that what they were asking was physiologically impossible?
I guess if I�m going to be fair about this, and I should, Sophie has never worn a three-piece suit (at least, not around me), but I think the rest of it still applies. I should also be fair enough to admit that she wasn�t exactly haranguing me about the project, but I would definitely classify her behavior under �bothering�. Okay, okay�while I�m being fair, I might as well admit that I feel bothered whenever I receive a business-related email from a client I�m supposed to be meeting with, but that�s really beside the point. I think. What was the point, again?
Oh yeah. I hate this new assignment. It�s really time-consuming, and ultimately, I feel like it�s something that wouldn�t need doing if everyone had just been on the stupid ball from the get-go. But I say that a lot about everything.
I don�t think I�ll go into the tragic recounting of how I discovered that, after I pay for bills and other necessary expenses, I have about enough money left over per month to take the bus downtown�and then panhandle. Because I know how you guys hate it when I weep uncontrollably.
Anyway, here�s hoping for a good weekend, full of happiness, and sudden and unexpected windfalls.
Someone Got Here By Searching For: pictures of Jackie O (Chanel jacket) And: Evil parakeets I�m Watching: Mulholland Drive. I�m Planning: My grocery list for the weekend. Do you think I could live on lettuce, indefinitely?