Cranky
Yesterday I forgot my medicine at home. I kept finding mistakes that other people had made. Since most of the work I needed to do was task- not people-related, I managed to hold my tongue, but I think I may have let a few sharply made remarks go by.
L is back, R was gone, and E was there. E had entered the invoices yesterday. I am quicker and more accurate than she. I don't know why she didn't ask me to do them. (If I had realized earlier, I would have offered, but it's better to have one person do them all the way through.)
When I got there on Thursday, I found that they had called the computer people to change my password. You know, instead of remembering that I'd told it to them (why we have passwords in this office is moot: we have them, therefore we must, but let's not have them be secret, because I might need something on your machine when you're gone.), and then emailed it to them *that morning*. I offered to help E out as much as I could, since she goes to let her dogs out on her lunch break. "Oh, I'll be done entering these by 2." (That's when I usually eat lunch.) So, she would eat lunch at 2, and I would eat when she came back, maybe as late as 3.
So she finished at 3, insisted that I eat lunch (wasn't going to argue -- there's only so long I can go through the day without breaking the night's fast). Augh. Why couldn't she have just *gone* to lunch. As R says, nobody is irreplaceable -- just go; we'll manage without you.
Yesterday, due to errors in entering the invoices, and communication mishaps, and who knows what else (metal fatigue, El Nino), several of the checks were wrong or had to be held or looked at. So, again, I ate lunch at 3. Throughout the day, E and I were the only ones there to answer the phones. Most of the time, if you're going to where you can't hear the phones (bathroom, upstairs, outside, to lunch) you *tell* the other person you're going. Especially if you're E, because you *get* a lot of the calls. Especially if you're the person who knows where things are, because I certainly don't, and can't find them if they're buried in piles all over your desk. Evidently telling one of the guys (or maybe they just noticed) is fine, you don't have to tell *me*. Needless to say, your "oh, just a minute, I don't need to tell her, I'll be gone so short a time" errand will take longer than expected. If you say you'll only be gone half an hour for lunch, and then (because someone has taken out your dogs, and you can take your car in for repairs) you stay out for an hour, it might be nice to call and say so!!
*grumble*
So then I'm exhausted when I get home. I don't want to go shopping. It's hot and breezeless and clingy in our apartment, and the only relief to be had (bar starting the moisture-sucking air conditioner) is opening the windows -- which lets in all sorts of creepy crawlys. Not so pleasant, especially when you're trying to wear as little as possible.
But someone has to go shopping for the chapel. So Peterbird goes. And comes back. HE BROKE HIMSELF. He is upset because he broke "your favorite shirt" -- yeah, whatever, it was good light cotton, but it was $1.99, I'll get over it. Meanwhile, YOU are bleeding and smarting from FIVE different places. Do NOT tell me you are fine. *Mother bear growl* We, naturally, have no large bandages, so on goes more clothing to be socially presentable, begging bandages and tape from the upstairs neighbors who are at home.
So we go together to get a mind-boggling amount of oil, five bottles of communion wine ("Rejoice and drink" on the box around the bottle, in Greek, says my Greek scholar.), and various cleaning supplies, and some groceries for us. Then we unload at the chapel, and he stays to clean with some people there. He should be back in about an hour (the regular cleaning is at 10 am on Saturdays), so I go home and unload the groceries and park the car. I bring him the ice pack he left in the car and ask if there's anything I can do. Frustrated that he won't answer my question, I go home. After all, he'll only be gone for an hour.
Two and a half hours later (man, that chapel must be clean), he comes home. I am, predictably, still cranky. I sleep on the couch in the festering and humid living room (except for battling the pillows, it's probably better -- for my throat).
So I sleep late. He is out at a nursing home Liturgy. He comes back, changes, and goes to clean the chapel. Nobody came at 10 am today (he cleaned last night, with others whose schedules it suited, because he couldn't come this morning).
He is always patient. I feel like I'm always boiling over, festering. I don't know how to get rid of all this anger.
The cool times I have seen are when I was sealing envelopes at work, singing in my head the megalynarion of the small paraklesis:
"Higher than the heavens above are you,
and you are much purer
than the radiance of the sun.
You who have redeemed us
from the curse which is upon us,
Lady of all people,
in hymns do we honor you."
"Speechless be the lips of impious ones,
those who do not reverence
your great icon, the sacred one
which is called Directress
and was depicted for us
by one of the apostles,
Luke the Evangelist."
There are three verses in between, but those are the two I know so far. I am working on learning them. I want to be better than I am, but I don't know how to let go of the nasty, icky parts. I feel like I am covering myself in filth. Why do I keep fighting going to Confession?
L is back, R was gone, and E was there. E had entered the invoices yesterday. I am quicker and more accurate than she. I don't know why she didn't ask me to do them. (If I had realized earlier, I would have offered, but it's better to have one person do them all the way through.)
When I got there on Thursday, I found that they had called the computer people to change my password. You know, instead of remembering that I'd told it to them (why we have passwords in this office is moot: we have them, therefore we must, but let's not have them be secret, because I might need something on your machine when you're gone.), and then emailed it to them *that morning*. I offered to help E out as much as I could, since she goes to let her dogs out on her lunch break. "Oh, I'll be done entering these by 2." (That's when I usually eat lunch.) So, she would eat lunch at 2, and I would eat when she came back, maybe as late as 3.
So she finished at 3, insisted that I eat lunch (wasn't going to argue -- there's only so long I can go through the day without breaking the night's fast). Augh. Why couldn't she have just *gone* to lunch. As R says, nobody is irreplaceable -- just go; we'll manage without you.
Yesterday, due to errors in entering the invoices, and communication mishaps, and who knows what else (metal fatigue, El Nino), several of the checks were wrong or had to be held or looked at. So, again, I ate lunch at 3. Throughout the day, E and I were the only ones there to answer the phones. Most of the time, if you're going to where you can't hear the phones (bathroom, upstairs, outside, to lunch) you *tell* the other person you're going. Especially if you're E, because you *get* a lot of the calls. Especially if you're the person who knows where things are, because I certainly don't, and can't find them if they're buried in piles all over your desk. Evidently telling one of the guys (or maybe they just noticed) is fine, you don't have to tell *me*. Needless to say, your "oh, just a minute, I don't need to tell her, I'll be gone so short a time" errand will take longer than expected. If you say you'll only be gone half an hour for lunch, and then (because someone has taken out your dogs, and you can take your car in for repairs) you stay out for an hour, it might be nice to call and say so!!
*grumble*
So then I'm exhausted when I get home. I don't want to go shopping. It's hot and breezeless and clingy in our apartment, and the only relief to be had (bar starting the moisture-sucking air conditioner) is opening the windows -- which lets in all sorts of creepy crawlys. Not so pleasant, especially when you're trying to wear as little as possible.
But someone has to go shopping for the chapel. So Peterbird goes. And comes back. HE BROKE HIMSELF. He is upset because he broke "your favorite shirt" -- yeah, whatever, it was good light cotton, but it was $1.99, I'll get over it. Meanwhile, YOU are bleeding and smarting from FIVE different places. Do NOT tell me you are fine. *Mother bear growl* We, naturally, have no large bandages, so on goes more clothing to be socially presentable, begging bandages and tape from the upstairs neighbors who are at home.
So we go together to get a mind-boggling amount of oil, five bottles of communion wine ("Rejoice and drink" on the box around the bottle, in Greek, says my Greek scholar.), and various cleaning supplies, and some groceries for us. Then we unload at the chapel, and he stays to clean with some people there. He should be back in about an hour (the regular cleaning is at 10 am on Saturdays), so I go home and unload the groceries and park the car. I bring him the ice pack he left in the car and ask if there's anything I can do. Frustrated that he won't answer my question, I go home. After all, he'll only be gone for an hour.
Two and a half hours later (man, that chapel must be clean), he comes home. I am, predictably, still cranky. I sleep on the couch in the festering and humid living room (except for battling the pillows, it's probably better -- for my throat).
So I sleep late. He is out at a nursing home Liturgy. He comes back, changes, and goes to clean the chapel. Nobody came at 10 am today (he cleaned last night, with others whose schedules it suited, because he couldn't come this morning).
He is always patient. I feel like I'm always boiling over, festering. I don't know how to get rid of all this anger.
The cool times I have seen are when I was sealing envelopes at work, singing in my head the megalynarion of the small paraklesis:
"Higher than the heavens above are you,
and you are much purer
than the radiance of the sun.
You who have redeemed us
from the curse which is upon us,
Lady of all people,
in hymns do we honor you."
"Speechless be the lips of impious ones,
those who do not reverence
your great icon, the sacred one
which is called Directress
and was depicted for us
by one of the apostles,
Luke the Evangelist."
There are three verses in between, but those are the two I know so far. I am working on learning them. I want to be better than I am, but I don't know how to let go of the nasty, icky parts. I feel like I am covering myself in filth. Why do I keep fighting going to Confession?
posted by magda at 11:04 AM
2 Comments:
Awww... I'm sorry you're having such a difficult weekend. You should visit me! We can lounge in the basement, which is humid yet cool. (Also, full of booze, which knits up the ravelled sleeve of care.)
Mmm....just reading the verses of the paraklesis brought the tune to my mind...even though it's been six years! Focus on the positive, not the negative. It's *so* easy to fall into over-intensity when you live in a close-knit community like Holy Cross.
You're making me miss old Brookline.
I responded to your comment on my blog...you should read it. :-)
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