And so, on a typical Tuesday, I hit a wall.

There are walls, after all. Even if they beckon a trip to Monaco beyond that. Those walls are the ones to look out for.

Maybe I should stop playing Bic Runga's And No More Shall We Part over and over again.

This week started out on high octane. The phone calls trailed off last Friday evening around 8 pm, but the texts continued all weekend. By Monday, I was in front of the PC and doing damage control at 7 am. I carried on until well after 7 pm. Tuesday I saw 7 am to 7 pm come and go.

I am putting in 12 hour days that are sometimes so packed that I have to mute my phone just so I can pee.

Today and Thursday I get to be in Guildford all day. And today sees me demonstrating our Rocket Riding Gerbil to Third in Charge, in preparation for demonstrating the product next week to men who have more titles in their names than I have in my entire book collection in the study.

The stress just keeps building. While it's nice to win a weekend in Monaco with the world's greatest man, I also can't help but regret that now people know who I am. Now the phone calls keep coming in. Now there's someone to point to.

On Tuesday it got so bad that while I would be on one ten minute phone call, I would miss four others. While checking voice mail to listen to those missed calls, I would receive another phone call. Returning those four phone calls resulted in me missing other calls. My email inbox is giving me those "System Administrator Notification: Your inbox is full, you lazy cow" faster than I can delete. I decided for the sake of my sanity I had to-had to-take a lunch break and go to Pilates.

While I was there, I missed more calls and no less than thirty emails.

I join another conference call and am confronted with the types of questions that are appearing more and more everyday:

"Helen, we have a clash of resources. Both issues are urgent. You need to tell me what the priority is now so that I can direct them."

"Helen, this rocket part isn't quite right. We are scrambling to figure out if we want this but need to know if the priority is a second part or just wait for the next rebuild that's coming. You need to decide, and we need the answer within 30 minutes."

"Helen, we need you to approve payment for this bill, which is more money than you will ever see in your life, ever. I know you want a full tally but we agreed with one of your seniors that you would just pay us anyway. Your call."

And no matter how many things I flag up to my seniors, I am still paddling upstream. Without a lifejacket. No paddle. And hell, there's not even any boat.

Then I hear word that the staff are being worked to death. They are exhausted and worn out. They have been giving it their all and my stupid pep talks are not enough anymore.

That is often the case.

I am often not enough anymore.

I enquire about the morale at one of the sites I am going to tomorrow. I am told it's so low that people are on the verge of quitting. In the next breath I am told that the mucho Seniors and I will be treated to breakfast tomorrow morning.

"What about the team?" I ask.

"What about them?" comes the reply.

"Well, aren't they joining for breakfast?" I reply.

"No." comes the bored reply.

"Are you kidding? Why not?" I ask, incredulously.

"Why would we want them around?"

"You just told me how low the morale was! Did it not occur to you that this will further alienate people?" I shout back.

I finally get a chance to go to the grocery store late Tuesday afternoon. I had to buy the fixings to make a sumptuous birthday dinner for my dear boy, and so I raced to Tesco with very little time in between conference calls. I race around the shop picking up the few things I need to make my lovely boy his requested birthday meal of risotto. I pick up 9 bottles on wine, surprised I am able to restrain myself to just the 9. Whizzing through the pastry aisle, I pick up 5 massive bags of doughnuts and a large tray of these revolting things in England called flapjacks.

They're for my team to enjoy, and the senior managers aren't getting any.

A woman holding her young son's hand points to my cart and stares. She is gawking at me. I look at my shopping selection-an overwhelming selection of alcohol and baked goods, camouflaging the few healthy vegetables which are buried underneath.

"I'm a diabetic alcoholic. I'm feeling suicidal." I say to her with a straight face.

Her eyes bulge and she rushes off. I hear her son as he asks in a stage whisper, "Mummy, what's a diabetacolic?"

I race back to the vegetable aisle to grab some leeks and feel my pocket vibrate. I had forgotten my phone was back there. Looking at the screen, I realize that the phone has gone off a number of times in the twenty minutes I had been in there.

And there amongst the tomatoes I burst into tears.

I want to throw my phone across the fruit section and scream: Just! Stop! Fucking! Ringing! I want to watch my phone smash into a thousand pieces. I want to hear the gorgeous sound of plastic splitting into quiet, into absolute silence.

Tears spilling down my face, I just bury my head in my hands. I am so fucking tired it's amazing. I feel the skin beneath my eyes pulling down and dark, and taking with it my sense of being able to keep my head above water. I just want this project to be over now, I want to not be tied to phone calls and emails that have such life and death overtones.

I realize a stock boy is looking at me. I wipe my face and somehow, somewhere, find a little place that hasn't snapped. I look at him.

"It's the carrots. They're out of season. My disappointment is mammoth." I say blankly to him.

I grab my cart, pay, and go home. I call Angus, who somehow manages to be the sunshine through the rain. I grab hold of the sound of his voice on the phone and fold my umbrella up, hoping that his mood can help me to just get through the rest of the day.

In my next conference call, the mood is bleak. I keep hearing "can't do this", "what do we do about this?", "why should we do this?" Halfway through, I just start barking at people.

And I've flipped out. "Problems and issues! Constantly! You know what? I am so fucking tired that I don't want any of you to ring me for at least one week. Seriously. I have been a slave to this job, so much so that I don't even know myself anymore. I read mails I wrote and I don't remember writing them. Did you know that it's Spring? Yeah. It is. Open your window and check it out. Did you know that in the Spring my winter skin sloughs off my body, and in order not to look like a monkey with diaper rash I have to exfoliate and moisturize like a madman? No? You didn't know that? Well I do. And I haven't been able to, so I look like a fucking Sleestack. It's all alligator here. My skin is dry all over the place, even on my nipples. That's right. I have crusty nipples. And I haven't had any quality time with my vibrator in...Christ...I can't even remember when I had any quality time with my vibrator. So please-let's dial down the drama, ok?"

Actually, I don't say any of that.

What I do say is: "Look! I know people are frustrated, and so am I! But let's try to figure out how to fix this instead of complaining! I don't want to hear a single negative comment on the rest of this call, ok? Let's just fix things. I am so utterly sick of feeling like it's so much death and gloom. We're all ok, and we can talk all of this out."

The phone is quiet, then people come in with suggestions.

A productive response, but I am still so depressed and sick of my job that I can barely hold my head up.

By the time Angus gets home, I am in the bathtub with a bottle of chardonnay and donning a face mask from Lush that smells like honey but looks like pigeon vomit. He makes me Thai peanut curry, with soy bits shaped like chicken that-wait for it-tastes like chicken. He talks to me in low soothing tones, the tones you use to calm a wild dog down.

And I love him so much that I can't get my arms wide enough to show him just how much I do.

Happy birthday Angus, the world's greatest 43 year old man.

-H.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 05:45 AM | Comments (16) | Add Comment
Post contains 1573 words, total size 8 kb.

1 Happy birthday to him. I love your quick replies. Diabetic alcoholic and the off carrots - that's two great ones. Stand up comedy awaits you...

Posted by: Simon at April 20, 2005 08:14 AM (GWTmv)

2 Many happy returns to the man. --- "You just told me how low the morale was! Did it not occur to you that this will further alienate people?" I shout back. --- Oh, praise you. Do you know, really know, how few managers would have been bothered by that? Look: I've never been where you've been. I've been the little project grunt at best, and in my experience, the management can be counted on to come take the three--at best--spare minutes of my day to come cry on MY shoulder that their jobs are so stressful these days, oh help. Which, when you're of the class who's never going to see Monaco, not even in dreams, is extremely grating. So I think it's awesome you did that. Can the peons maybe get a little breakfast, please? Would that be asking too much? I've been on teams where a crummy microwaved Pillsbury roll would have lifted our spirits. Honestly. Ech, the memories. I hope this all passes smoothly and you and the man have a lovely vacation (I will not say holiday, you can't make me).

Posted by: ilyka at April 20, 2005 11:03 AM (kiGZr)

3 Happy Birthday to himself. Hang in there - it's almost over and then you can take a deep breath. Your gesture to your team just might make all the difference - so few managers it seems take the time to even try to raise morale. You are a good person.

Posted by: Lost at April 20, 2005 11:09 AM (aa+g9)

4 LOL at the woman and boy in Tescos. Love the cake!

Posted by: Juls at April 20, 2005 01:13 PM (SDeyC)

5 I claim title to the best 33 y/o Next time circus is in town I say run off with it. Thats what I plan to do if I ever get the chance to escape.

Posted by: Drew at April 20, 2005 01:13 PM (CBlhQ)

6 *whew* Now I guess that makes ME the world's greatest 42 year old man. I hope I can handle the responsibility...

Posted by: ~Easy at April 20, 2005 01:22 PM (npJc/)

7 Happy Birthday, Angus! YAY! Make Helen bring you to NY so I can take you out and celebrate! Sorry about the stress, Helen.

Posted by: RP at April 20, 2005 01:29 PM (LlPKh)

8 Happy Birthday Angus!!! And Hugs to you, Helen... I can relate on so many levels with monstrous projects just looming with stress and disaster...

Posted by: amber at April 20, 2005 02:41 PM (VZEhb)

9 *big hug*

Posted by: Z. Hendirez at April 20, 2005 03:38 PM (djkkI)

10 Congrats to you, Helen.. and Happy Birthday to Angus. The company owns you now : ) Take it easy... it's your life!

Posted by: Annette at April 20, 2005 03:51 PM (RNe+D)

11 Happy Birthday, Angus! Happy UnBirthday to you, Helen.

Posted by: Lindsay at April 20, 2005 06:48 PM (srIAp)

12 Happy day to the lovely boy...and quiet joy for you. Hang in, you have so much to deal with, but we all have faith in you!

Posted by: Jennifer at April 20, 2005 06:56 PM (F8TUc)

13 Happy Birthday Angus Helen, hang in there, the project will end eventually and i have every faith that it will end well for you. fairy abs x

Posted by: abs at April 20, 2005 07:43 PM (WyPlR)

14 I say again, as always, I want to be you when I grow up. Only, without the million-pound stress job, and with my own grand 43-year-old-man. Okay, maybe, present situation withstanding, I just want to have your wit. I love the "diabetacolic" comment! Happy birthday to your guy. Hang in there. If you were Tinkerbell, you'd make it simply on the volume of "I believe" coming from your fans. But you aren't Tinkerbell. You're you. And you'll make it anyway.

Posted by: scorpy at April 20, 2005 08:50 PM (8tOsd)

15 You're so lucky you have him. I know your job is distressing you - seems to be going around lately - but just think how lucky you are to have Angus as your lifeline.

Posted by: kalisah at April 21, 2005 04:45 PM (mDgS4)

16 Happy (belated) birthday to Angus!

Posted by: Jim at April 24, 2005 02:22 PM (MDLz3)

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