At some point yesterday, whilst I was watching Avenue Q and was away from The Internet, Naya Rivera sang Amy Winehouse's Back to Black, and everything was right with the world. Excuse me whilst I run it on repeat.
OH GOSH, GUYS. Last Friday was madness from top to toe. Work pulled a fast one on me, so that every time I tried to do something I needed to get done, there was instead post to shuffle through. Bank statements that need copying! Pass books that need to be returned recorded delivery! HUNDREDS AND HUNDRED OF QUESTIONNAIRES THAT NEEDED SCANNING. Seriously, I had 17 of those fuckers to do, and it took me two and a half hours.
Still managed to leave work a half hour early to grab a train to London where - after being held up just past Finsbury Park for a half hour - I met up with daygloparker. Though we were both out of our minds exhausted, she for better reasons than me, we made it to Piccadilly Circus, and a pub, and eventually the theatre. Seeing Children's Hour for the second time was a little odd for me, especially as the show I saw was in previews, and this was the penultimate performance. I liked the acting choices more, and the some of the set choices less, but it was still a very good production. I think I could watch Elisabeth Moss forever and ever.
( a vague summary of events. )
Sunday morning I nearly left my case in the room we were departing from, and then almost died trying to get to Holborn on the Central. (Everything was down. If you lived in East London that weekend? You were fucked. District was completely down. Circle was mostly down. Hammersmith and City was down from King's Cross eastbound.) Almost left my case on the train (sigh). Returned to a Fen that was not steeped in rain, but sunny, and pretty, and then finished checking over my cousin's dissertation.
And then the week happened. Having two people share the senior position in my team is frustrating for a lot of reasons, but also results in some discrepancies in how certain things are done. Not!boss #1 is shallow, and an idiot, but the team runs smoothly enough when she is around. She gets cases checked, and reads through the inbox in a timely fashion, and handles queries that need to be handled. The downside to her is that she talks a lot of bullshit, and isn't around to finish off the work she started.
( stupidity in the office. )
And, of course, the printer. Christ. THE PRINTER. I don't want to talk about it.
Yesterday evening was a lot of fun. I really enjoyed Avenue Q, and TC is a laugh, as is the other co-worker I went with. Had a really, really good time, and TC dropped me off to the local train station...before getting lost on her way home. *headdesk* She made it, so it's all good. It was good to be able to go out after the week that the three of us had had, and it was good to be able to socialise with the people I work with a bit because I don't normally get that opportunity, living so far away. You don't need to be friends with the people you work with, but I like to get along with them because they are the only people I see with any sort of consistency. I made the mistake of befriending all the foreign students at my university, and so they have all gone home now. TC is seven years older than me, married, with a child, and so, so together, but she's the one who will email me when we haven't been in the same office all week, and try to convince me to give in to Justin Bieber's allure (um: no), or ask me if I've seen the latest Glee, or some other nonsense, and it's just nice. The average age in my office is 50, and that's only because I skew that average down. I get on with people who are older than me, I do! But, jesus, sometimes I need to talk about Mad Men like dying, and they're all buzzing about the footie, or The Apprentice, or whatever, whatever, whatever, give me strength.
And then I made the mistake of watching Bones on my commute yesterday, and burst into tears, at which point my extravagantly-coiffured travelling companion (aka the woman who sits next to me most days for no reasons other than habit) got super concerned, and I couldn't explain that everything was okay and this stupid show was wrecking my face.
On the bus. That is shaming.
This weekend: Engrenages, saison trois. AGGRESSIVE FRENCH LESBIANS. GIVE THEM TO ME.