Pick that up and put it down properly!

I feel tumultuous. Like Gary Busey in high wind.

Work has been insane in the membrane. Or for the less bombastic: totes nutsack.

In the last fortnight, all hell don break loose (stopping just shy of my shorts catching fire with only vodka to put ’em out). Each morning, trying to wake myself to the dawn was like a pterodactyl being born with tiny wing-claws and grit in its eyes … the end of every day like tits-up Titanic, with the band playing on as everyone scrambled on deck, our ship soaring and splitting in two like a whopping-wafer in an angry iced-latte.

Then. Friday. Things came to an iceberg-lettuce head.

Read: people crying into career soups and one dickhead nigh losing his job.

See, my boss went on leave. Yep. That was it. He went on walkabout and into his competent ‘n’ charismatic loafers stepped another. A woman I quite like, but one unprepared for the dickhead dead ahead; the he-man hurdle she had to clear to be awarded gold. (For us all to be awarded gold.) The details themselves are as long and winding as the collective intestines of The Beatles but suffice to say, he was too wide of wit and tall of ego for it to end well. Our fallout primarily political, his yet to be determined – it was one helluva ride.

Somewhere in the middle, was I. Clambering to keep up, to maintain a sense of logic amongst the panic, mutiny and high-seas. I may as well have been trying to send a fax in an insane asylum, using a post-it and the butt-crack of a contiguous catatonic.

In case you’re wondering, it looked a little like this:

Monday, the boss returns. Peaceful and pious on holiday cheer, he’ll no doubt sprint the last metre of our virtual marathon, barely breaking a bead. Never mind that we’re all shadows of our former felicitations, or that we’ve agnostically-aged faster than Lori Singer in Warlock.

That said, if we’re gonna silver-line this wedgie, it was in the midst of the climactic crunch that I made the decision to finally leave it all behind. Passion should neither be perfunctory nor the byproduct (read: cow plop) of a wandering grass-munching job. The egg may well come before the chicken, but the shit sure (as shit) don’t come before the meal.

Meanwhile (and speaking of), screw James Cameron and the four-stacks he rode in on.

I boycotted that movie for a decade whence its whirlwind release (like a rabid dog upon the bone of good taste), driven to dander by the tide of public love and affliction; his success proof only of self-promotion the likes of which a caterpillar should never see.

For, in somewhat sluggish summation, we all know Kate could’ve fit Leonardo on that door.

About the wuc

I'm a chick living in Australia, working for the man. I hate office work with a passion usually reserved for James Cameron, but somehow I ended up with a career behind a desk, stapling my forehead at random intervals.

32 Responses to “Pick that up and put it down properly!”

  1. Thank you ever so much for being. This is an excellent blog in every respect … am enjoying all of the words and resultant catharsis. :) Em

    • Em, such a lovely comment, thank you! You’ve warmed my writing cockles (all above board, I assure you).

      Blessed be the seven diamonds.

  2. Hahaha, Loving the door mock up.

  3. I think Cameron’s a decent sort, except for that whole part where he screwed Linda Hamilton over. I liked Terminator 2 and The Abyss and Avatar, but I laughed out loud at the most inappropriate moments of Titanic, especially where diCaprio’s character dies. I hated that film. Especially because Billy Zane’s nickel-plated 1911 was not available at that time. I’m a stickler for historical accuracy.

    • Cracks. “… except for the whole part where he screwed Hamilton over”. What about the whole part where he screwed Aliens over (a legacy I’m more concerned about). Glad we agree on tits-up Titanic though. Fist bump of almost solidarity?

  4. You. Are. Brilliant.

  5. Just for THAT anchorman clip, 5 big heavenly stars, right there. And I love how you got egg, chicken, and scrambled in the same post. Hungry?

    • I’m worried, yet also heartened… I quite often feel I’m in a glass cage of EMOSHUUUUN!
      I often wish I’d blogged under a pseudonym and then I could be quite as candid as you…

      • Ah, thanks LWWW. Heartened first and foremost, I say!

        Totally understand what you mean. I still have to force myself to be candid, as there are a couple of people I know who read my blog. But much harder when your real name is attached, no question! Hats off to ye, chronicling comrade.

    • Wucca wucca and a bok-bok-bokkaw wucca. Chooktastic.

  6. I thought walkabouts took way more than a weekend? Oh well, what do Americans know! I love that phrase “as long and winding as the collective intestines of The Beatles” –cool writing style!

    • Crack up, thanks muchly dear American. You’re right of course (well, you’re riiiight) (sneaky BTTF3 ref) … but my boss was away for three weeks, so I was hoping to sneak him under the wire!? ;)

  7. I do hope you are embarking on a writing career,,..You are the best wordsmith around these days that isn’t famous….YET…Love your style…it belongs to no other….Love the uniqueness of the Wuc…

    • Wow, thanks Mother (can I call you, Ma?) – this is like coconut milk on the sunburn of my soul. I do want to have a writing career! (I do, I do, I do, I do) (to be said like Homer Simpson munching cookies). Comments like yours make me feel it’s possible, thank you so much.

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