Category Archives: Work

Writing Process Meme

My lovely tutor Esther Newton at the Writers Bureau nominated me for the writing process blog meme. Esther is a fab tutor, always giving such thoughtful and comprehensive feedback, and also an extremely talented writer, my favourite story I have read of hers which had me in fits of laughter was a story written through a series of letters from a very angry customer to a rather naughty hotel owner!

I have to answer four questions and nominate three other bloggers to continue the process. I will do my best at answering the questions, but I might have trouble nominating bloggers, as most of the friends I have made through blogging thus far have been fertility friends rather than writing friends, blogging about writing is still new for me. What I will try to do though is nominate people in my writing group- and then consolidate their answers into one post and pop it up here at a later date.

So, here goes:

1. What am I working on at the moment?

So much it hurts!

  1. I blog, obviously. That’s a constant WIP.
  2. I have written a short story for an adult fairy tale competition, that is sitting on my laptop in desperate need of proof reading so I can submit it by the 14th November. But I’m rubbish at proof reading so I am quietly ignoring it, until I have to submit it. When I will unsurprisingly give it a quick once over, beat myself up AGAIN about being shit at grammar and then submit it anyway, probably full of mistakes. ūüôĀ
  3. My next assignment which is a 4000 word short story about post apocalyptic Earth, due on the 10th December, and thus far I have a title and an idea! and 44.5 thousand words between me and finishing NaNo to have the head space to write it! Gulp.
  4. I run a writing group on Facebook – its a small group of just 16 at the moment, but like anything, if you want it to flourish you have to put the time and effort in, and constantly think of new conversations to generate new writing chat.
  5. My labour of love… The novel I have slaved over, and am writing as part of NaNo. It wasn’t created because of NaNo, I have been working (planning) it for at least a couple of years, although one character and a couple of creatures, have been nuzzled in the corner of my mind since I was 9. I even found the story I wrote about them the other day. This is THE book, the story, that one everyone has in them thats probably rubbish but a complete labour of love. I am in love with my story, I want to live in this world! I know, I probably sound like a complete lunatic!
  6. The second instalment which came to me like an epiphany in a training session, at which point I then scrawled all over my training book with maps, and notes and keys for the story in the tiniest writing you have ever seen so that I didn’t get caught! This is now in the fermenting stage (I’ll explain later)

I think that’s it at the moment.

2. How does my work differ from others of its genre?

This is the hardest question to answer. Other than the fact I am coming up with new ideas (which I guess is the one thing I do pride myself on, my unique ideas) I am not too sure. I guess everyone has their own writing style so that would be different too. Although I don’t quite know how to describe my writing style, maybe I will ask Esther, or some of my friends who have read my work.¬†I guess the one thing my friends say, is that they can clearly hear my voice in my work, they know it’s me writing, so that I guess makes it separate from other writers work because there is only one me!

Ugh, this is actually really hard! I am a bit stumped, particularly because I am really quite critical of my work, so it’s hard to now think of something good to say! erm… A couple of people have¬†said my dialogue is quite good, I am quite good at making it realistic and believable.

Does that count? I give up!

3. Why do I write what I do?

kidnap

I’m joking, kind of! Writing isn’t a choice though. It’s not a want, a like or a desire. Its an out and out MUST. I HAVE to write, I NEED to do it. Writing quiets my brain from the incessant noise all my characters make in my head. If I don’t write, they scream at me, or prod at what brain cells pregnancy left me with, until I write their stories, and tell their tales.

I mean, of course, like any budding writer, I want to be published. I want to be the next JK Rowling, or Stephen King, or Veronica Roth. But we all know the odds are infinitesimally small. So that doesn’t drive me. An intense need to quiet my characters does!! Ok, a need to tell the stories that fill my head, create the worlds I always wished I could read about. Writing, is a therapy, its cathartic, it allows me to live in another world, where possibilities are limited only by my own mind.

4. How does my writing process work?

HA! 64 million dollar question. Erm. Well, I am a bit of an epiphany kind of girl! I will have a Eureka moment, when something pops into my head, whether it be a character or concept, or plot twist, and then I will spend a lot of time padding it out. I would say that the majority of my writing process is unconscious thought. I need time, not to consciously think about my story, but to let it ferment unconsciously in my head. I just need it to sit there quietly in a corner of my brain whilst I carry on with day to day life. Generally speaking I hate detail, in life, mostly work, I’m awful, I can’t do grammar, I can’t do numbers or spreadsheets. It always surprises me when I can delve into such depth with a character or setting. I spend an awful lot of time noticing little intricacies about people, friends and colleagues. If I meet an interesting person at work, I will scribble notes in my work notebook about that person or character right next to some important work notes! I remember in a meeting once a few years ago, I was so flabbergasted at the sight of a particular person, I was gobsmacked that no one else in the room was as intrigued as me. This gentleman was late 50’s and had skin so deeply grooved and lined he looked like a sculpture, he had a beautiful afro, that reminded me of my grandad, and his big dark eyes made him¬†look ever so slightly like a lion. I had to literally force myself not to stare at him, so instead, I spent most of the meeting snatching glances at him, and unashamedly drawing a picture of his face on a post it… which I still have!

I write notes about my characters and settings and storylines EVERYWHERE. Literally, I have a notebook on me constantly, whether in my work bag, handbag, or on my phone, I have scraps of paper, project files, and document after document clogging up my phone.

I draw them all together and generally speaking put them either into a word document of notes that I develop into ¬†a short story. Or if it’s for my novel into my Scrivener file. Genuinely don’t know where I would be without Scrivener.

I am annoyingly organised. I would say that for novel writing, I drive myself utterly insane with planning and preparation, to the point where, for an entire year, I put off writing my novel because I didn’t feel I had prepared enough. I also have a tendency to hold a lot of information in my head, which usually results in me having mental bandwidth issues, and monging around like a zombie at the end of the day when I physically can’t hold anything else in my head! If it wasn’t for NaNoWriMo, I don’t think I would have ever gotten my novel written.

For short stories, I am much less uptight. I can generally speaking let them evolve naturally, you don’t have time to put all the detail in, it’s short sharp and to the point, I generally take a week to get a story down, then spend a few days editing and re reading it. I have a few friends who tirelessly read the drivel I write, so I often send copies of stuff to them just to have a second third or fourth opinion. My poor wife, usually gets roped in to read them, as does my mum. Both of whom aren’t really readers, and don’t enjoy this part of my writing process! but do it anyway because they love me, and I nag them! haha.

There are two other bits I failed to mention:

1. Pinterest. I am a hugely visual person, and I love a good scrap book / mood board. Pinterest has become the bane and love of my life. I use it constantly drawing boards together for inspiration characters and stories and research.

2. Research, I love research, particularly if there is a theme in my book, in my novel, the different places are based on different themes, so I had to do a lot of research on those topics. But for the 4000 word short story, I am currently doing in-depth research on ‘alternative history’ there is a whole culture out there that believes aliens have visited and our history is not what it seems,¬†so my story is partially inspired by this. I love a conspiracy and anything unusual, so I regularly take snippets of odd things I hear, or strange topics for inspiration.

3. I’m a night owl. Mostly I write at night, after my boy is in bed.

That’s it. Possibly my longest post ever, and a little insight into my strange brain!

Depression. Muses. Life.

muse

I am feeling worse than ever. I saw the above picture today, and I just cried. For me it’s such an inspirational picture. It takes me back to when I was travelling. Reminds me of the breath taking Himalayan mountains I trekked through. The peace I found when I was there. I want nothing more right now than to run away and climb into a big dark hole, hiding away from the world forever.

I want to be that girl in the photo. I should be that girl in the photo. All I ever wanted to do was go to uni and go travelling. Bum around the world for a while, sucking life experiences in and just ‘being’. No responsibilities, no plans, no cares. Coming from someone so anal, and organised I surprised myself at how much I enjoyed travelling. But I really did find a kind of peace when I was away. A kind of silence. Like the silence late at night when it’s snowed or is snowing. When it’s 1am, and nothing moves not even the air… Travelling was my muse, it inspired me, it humbled me and it gave me peace.

I am a shell, a living breathing carcass right now.

The last year has crushed me.

I don’t think I even know who I am anymore.

The stress of my family during the wedding, the job that has sucked every ounce of individuality out of me and forced a monotonous drone of boring beige routine into my life, and worst into me…. but worst of all the fertility issue.

I have been in and out of depression enough over the last 18 months because of ‘life’ but right now… it truly has to be the worst place I have been in…

I just cant cope.

My senior manager told me the other day that he couldn’t believe how well I was coping. He said no one would notice that something so horrific was happening to me. He said that I was really strong, and he was very impressed with my resilience.

It’s a facade. I am a fake. A plastic temporary smile, that I wear for 8 hours a day that drains every last ounce of anything I have in me.

He shouldn’t be impressed. He might think I am still brilliant, I am coasting through the days just to keep myself going. I am on autopilot… again.

I just didn’t picture my life like this, when I think back, this picture, that girl… that’s who I was going to be. I think that’s why the photo has struck such a deep resonance with me.

I have started testing my ovulation again today… when I ovulate this week, we will be flying to Denmark to try insemination.

The wife is so positive that it scares me. I already feel like a failure, my body… my ovaries are inadequate and I don’t want to disappoint her if the insemination doesn’t work. It only has a 25% chance of working at the best of times, let alone with my problems. I am also worried because I have been trying to be really healthy, but I seem to have got a cold this week… that is not going to help me get pregnant… more worries.

Then the thought of actually getting pregnant is also terrifying. All the life changes, I am still trying to get my head around it all, giving up everything I thought I was going to have, that was who I was going to be in my 30’s… not in my mid twenties. The next 5 years were meant to be fun before we tried to have a family…. I just can’t get my head around it. I just can’t. Why hasn’t someone told me it’s all a big mistake yet? WHY?????

I just…

I am in a very dark, very strange, very lonely place right now. Words are failing me, I just can’t explain where my head is. I don’t want to talk to anyone, I don’t want to see anyone, I don’t want to do anything. I can feel myself locking down, and shutting the world out and theres nothing I can do about it. I can’t muster enough ‘me’ to talk about how I feel. I don’t fucking know how I feel. That’s probably the problem. I don’t have words. The complexity of emotions I am feeling right now is indescribable.

I feel bad because I know I should be communicating, but I just don’t want to talk, about anything to anyone. I don’t want to have to justify myself, and I don’t want to explain my feelings. I just want to be quiet and for it all to go away. I want to wake up in the morning and be that girl in the photo…

But I won’t.

I am going to wake up… still be Sacha, still be depressed, still have a job I hate, and still have fertility issues.

Spiralling Down

One week. One week back in my cesspit hole of a job to feel myself start to tip off the side of sanity all over again.

I hate it. I hate my job so much it infects me. It putrefies my thoughts and tears tiny bits of my soul away, day by day. I can feel myself erupting on the inside over nothing. Something someone says, an insignificant remark makes my mind seethe and my blood burn with angry lust.

I am becoming scarred with bitter frustration.

I am broken.

I have a new boss, and he asked me this week after hearing my story if I had any fight left in me.

“you do don’t you… have fight left in you?” He asked me expectantly.

I just turned my head away. Biting back the tears.

” I don’t know”

And I really don’t know.

My old boss stole my confidence, and crushed my creativity.

” The thing is Sach…” He would say patronisingly.

“You got a big personality. You just need to be a bit less Sacha… you know?”

Cunt.

He hated me. He hated what I represented and made sure I knew it.

I am disgusted with myself that I could let a man beat me down and crush me the way he did, the way work has.

He left, but I have given up. I have nothing left, no fight, no drive, no ambition.

My entire being is bruise and I am exhausted.

I am Sacha, and I am beautiful, but, I am utterly broken.

 

Sacha Black Creations inc… Stage 2

As promised an update on the studio. I still need some carpet, a bar stool and a coffee table, but its getting there. The purple wall with the frame is specifically for my novel… don’t judge my lack of writing and that its empty I have been so busy.

Went back to work this week, after having completed just over 2 weeks of jury service, and some time in Birmingham at uni. Boy was it a shell shock returning to work.

I am in a new department though and its a million percent better. Anyway, short post, as I am brewing up some lengthier ones shortly.

The wife made me the shelves and the desk.

I just painted!!

It’s so nice to have a space thats just mine, I just wish it was complete. The desk is standing height at my request so I can stand and work at it, but definitely didn’t consider the fact that I need to have a stool before I can write at it!

#fail.

Also, I am ¬†wondering if this extremely rash quick decision is something to do with my mid twenties existential crisis…um possibly me thinks… *cough*

Sacha Black Creations inc.

There comes a time in life, when you are tired of thinking about your dreams, your sick of pondering about some far off future life you might have if only XY or Z happened. If only you could such and such.

Life’s too short.

So, I stopped bullshitting myself.

Only I can change my life, only I can do something about it. I need to stop waiting for something to happen, or waiting to be head hunted, or waiting to land on my feet. That doesn’t happen. You (I) need to open my own doors, and create my own opportunities, and that ain’t guna happen sat on my arse thinking about what I might or might not do.

If I am ever going to seriously finish this novel, or make any extra money, or have a creative job, or be a millionaire by the time I’m 35 I need to stop day dreaming, get off my slightly chubby backside and do something about it.

So I did.

I only took a tiny step, but it was a step nonetheless.

I have a studio.

It’s and office, come art studio, for all Sacha Black Creations. I am going to devote half of the space to my novel enterprise, and the other half to my art.

Its wonderful, and I cannot wait to get in there properly. To be honest, it’s probably a little more than I wanted to pay, but the space is bigger and I cannot complain, the light is fantastic, and the ‘feeling’ I got when entering was electric.

I went into another studio they had for rent, and I hated it, I was so disappointed and thought that I wasn’t going to find the right space, but then she told me that she had another space. It was more money but she had it if I wanted to look at it. So I did, and both the wife and I had massive grins as soon as we entered. You can just feel the creative juices oozing out of the walls. I am SO excited. It took me all of 2 seconds to decide. We both knew it was right instantly. That can only be but a good sign.

It’s 80 square foot. So about the length of my car both in width and length, as it is a square, and currently it is a square, and a total blank canvas…

*rolls up sleeves*

I will post photos of it as I decorate. But below are images of it as a shell… The person/dog in the photo is not me, its the owner of the studios… not that you can tell.

There are 11 artists in total, which is lovely because it means that I will have other artists to bounce off too if ever I hit writers/painters block.

Welcome to Sacha Black Creations… (I think thats a good company name… maybe I will call my company that!)

p.s. The studio is bigger than it looks in the photos, my camera phone hasn’t done it justice.

Fuckin' Monday Strikes Again.

I am a strong believer in putting good karma and energy out there. So I am considering trying to change my severe hatred of Monday and put out some Monday love.

However, today is not that day.

I REALLY fucking hate Monday, and it hates me.

Today is the first day of my new placement. I rotate ever 6 months for two years, and I am hoping that this will be my last rotation. But we shall see. Anyway. So as first days go it was relatively pain free, other than the fact I am a guinea pig for my line manager who has never line managed anyone, was possibly the most patronizing person I know and only gave me one project, which she claimed would take me 6 months, and I had to try not to laugh in her face, knowing my insatiable appetite for work, I could obliterate it in two. AND, I took that as a challenge to prove the point to her. ANYWAY.

I am hopeful that this placement will be much better, for a start the office isnt some holier than thou – took an oath of silence – type offices, people actually interacted.

Enough moaning, I am genuinely happier in this office, although this is only day 1 so… I ain’t counting any chickens just yet.

Today is the wife’s birthday.

I had this whole brilliant idea for a present and card, and had planned on doing it on Saturday because she was going out with her friends back home (home being where she grew up, as opposed to our current home)

ANYWAY, she was supposed to be going to her nans the following day, and wanted me to come with her. Her nan lives an hour further south than where she came from.

So dick head over here – me – opens my big mouth and asks her why she isn’t staying in reading for the night and driving straight on to her nans in the morning.

Well I thought I was being logical and rational. Which I was, but then I got caught up in the whole thing, and shes draggin me down to her mums because she wants me to go to her nans the following day.

So I am stuck in my mother in laws house (she wasn’t there btw) with no car, no nothing, no ability to go shopping for her. She says she doesn’t care, and would prefer me to go to her nans than get her anything, but it makes me feel like crap.

So when she wakes up this morning I have nothing to give her, squat. Not even a card, I feel like the worst wife ever.

So I leave home early to get her something before work (my first day in the new placement mind) and rush to work.

Go through the whole day no hitches, minus my minor irritations, and when do I ever get through a whole day without getting annoyed?!

Anyway, I leave early in the hope that I can get to the shops to buy a cake before she gets home…

Climb in the car, key – ignition – splutter splutter… DEATH. My car literally committed suicide on me.

Why? why is it always the day before I go to uni? I have a two and a half hour drive to uni tomorrow, and I am in real danger of not being able to get up there.

Why is it always fucking Mondays??

Surely not a good Monday?!

 

It’s about this time on a Monday when I usually start ranting about how shit it has been. Someone or other has pissed me off, something has gone horribly wrong, ¬†etc etc. In fact, I secretly love the fact so many ridiculous things happen to me. It gives me funny stories to tell and hopefully some good anecdotes for others to enjoy.

HOWEVER, I am dumbfounded to find that I have NOTHING negative to say!!

My heart bleeds!

I almost don’t know what to do with myself it has actually been an above average day!!!

Despite my usual Monday routine of: waking up, getting ready, passing out again fully clothed trying to scrape the last few minutes before leaving for work, cradling coffee the rest of the day went surprisingly well.

This is odd for me, firstly because I love a good moan, or rant. It saddens me that I have nothing to moan about! *at least I am honest!!*

Perhaps I should enjoy the moment!

Secondly because I have the worst luck with Mondays, they normally feature somewhere between diabolical and worst days of my life.

Anyway.

I am a trainee manager, and on a ‘scheme’ at work, and today I was given a budget for a project that will remain nameless because it is an extremely large national project that is running across all authorities. The fact that I will have some responsibility over a budget is fab, and also something I think, not many other grads have had the chance to do yet. Which considering I have my mid placement review tomorrow, is beyond excellent timing.

I have had some seriously good feedback about my role in this project too, which was also great, and a real boost to my confidence, particularly because I haven’t really enjoyed the work I have been doing.

Then, I decided that I wanted to shape my next placement. I do not want to be in the situation where I am not enjoying what I am doing. More to the point, because of my drive to be a millionaire in 10 years see other blog! (http://sachablack.wordpress.com/2012/07/12/this-time-next-year-rodney-well-be-millionaires/ )

I decided I want to look at property development. So I thought considering the company I work for has a huge portfolio I would try to get a placement in their property department. So I nudged a bit and prodded in the right direction and it’s looking promising to say the least!

This is a major win!

It is only 6pm… maybe I shouldn’t count my chickens just yet!!

F**k Monday

Mondays are shit.

I really REALLY hate Mondays, but today was a particularly repugnant Monday.

I am not a morning person at the best of times, but Monday mornings, WOAH.

Forget, conversation, in fact, forget expecting to see my eyes open. Until it’s at least 11 and I have managed to cradle a coffee.

Mondays are hideous, they are cruel, particularly unkind, in fact vicious, and completely unforgiving.

Mondays are by far the worst day of the week, except maybe Tuesdays, which on occasions can be even worst.

This morning was no better than any other Monday morning. I woke up… barely, I struggle so much with mornings, being a night owl, I find them pointless, yet I try and force myself awake to get to work early so I can finish work early ¬†to miss the traffic and get the whole evening to myself.

So I woke up, just.

I was so far beyond tired. My face was basically falling off, I had bags the size of cars, and my eyes felt like they were bleeding when I tried to tear them open, and force the sunlight into them.

Monday… you have just finished a weekend, which inevitably wasn’t long enough and now you have to face and ENTIRE week of work, 105.5¬†hours until, 4:30pm on a Friday when the weekend begins again. Tuesday isn’t much better, because its not like you can say it’s half way through the week like you can at lunch time on Wednesday, plus you can’t blame being asleep or not paying attention on the fact it’s Monday-the first day after the weekend. Hate Tuesdays just as much! But that’s another story.

Anyway, so I shower, and get ready half asleep, and then I am so tired, I am hugely grateful that I packed my bag and made lunch the night before. So I climb back into bed to catch another seriously precious 20 minute snooze.

I get woken up 15 minutes later by the most irritating sounds EVER. Some game the gf has decided to download at ridiculous o clock in the morning and can’t turn the sounds down. Firstly, its Monday morning, why would you be downloading an app, and playing on it? And secondly why would you do it, lying next to me, when I am clearly trying to nap, fully clothed? So it’s fairly obvious I am struggling. Anyway, I politely explain that I am trying to get some sleep and she gets in a mood with me, and tells me how noisy I am in the morning ALWAYS waking her up.

Which can I just point out is not entirely true. I am incredibly clumsy which she knows, but I try my best not to wake her up.

Anyway, she is now in a mood with me, because I am in a mood with her. Why do lesbians do that?

She huffs off to have a shower, and as I have just started to doze off again, the vile sound of the alarm clock goes off. I have to FORCE myself out from under the covers and into my shoes.

After managing to get to work early, I realise that I have an ‘early’ pre 9am meeting that I completely forgot I had, luckily theres no cue for coffee and I think the days looking up.

Alas not.

I then have to shuffle in an out of meetings barely having enough time to catch up from all the emails I missed on Friday, so manage to get nothing productive done at all. Then I realise I have to give a board report tomorrow. Which I clearly haven’t given a seconds thought to. *note to self* must remember to practice later.

Then I try to pull together a to do list, scratching at my brain to remember last week, which then reminds me the house insurance is going to expire any day now and the cat insurance needs renewing. I daren’t even look at the wedding to do list.

The day flies by because I am so busy, and then I get to the gym. I am at this point slightly concerned I have put on a couple of pounds recently. So I have a renewed motivation to lose weight, can’t think of anything worst than being disappointed with myself on my wedding day for having not tried hard enough to get to my goal weight.

I climb reluctantly onto the scales, to see the damage, convinced its only a couple of pounds. HA, well wasn’t that a nice little fuck you from the scales. EIGHT pounds. EIGHT. I was/am mortified.

How the hell did I put on over half a stone in a month? Well that’s it. I roast myself in the gym, and head straight to the supermarket to buy the entire healthy aisle. Which, might I add, is the most expensive aisle in the shop. Why is healthy food so god damn expensive? NOT happy.

I get home, with a million things on my lengthy to do list, to find a nice gas bill for 75 quid, that I clearly don’t have spare. Nice.

Well f**k you very much Monday, see you next week.

Demon emailer makes for an angry Sacha

Today, I am boshing out my angry lesbian.

We have established that I hate vague rambling discussions and or instructions, and these nearly made it onto my list of pet hates.

However, I still only have three official pet hates, (official because I have an endless ever growing list of things that annoy me, but three that will instantly piss me off)

I hate being patronized. It makes me arrogant and angry and ultimately turns me into the antichrist!

Don’t patronize me because

a) I am probably more intelligence than you

and

b) I can definitely do whatever it is that were doing better than you

So this new person has taken over the HR for the scheme that I am on. Supposedly they are “babysitting” it. Sorry the last time I checked I didn’t actually wear diapers anymore.

Anyway.

A little while ago we were asked to organise an event. Asked for ideas and then the reins were past over to us to get on with the event.

New girl starts, a little over a week after we were told to get on with it.

Newbie sends some really patronizing email¬†giving us an arbitrary deadline for the¬†next working day¬†to ‘submit’ our presentations to her to ‘review’ them.

#rage instantly.

Firstly we were never given a deadline in the first place, secondly dont ask for something the next working day when its already the afternoon and I am rammed up to my eyeballs in work; and thirdly, the event was still a WHOLE month away. Your not in the private sector now love. Welcome to the public sector!

I responded with a polite email back suggesting that the deadline be pushed forward because the event was a long way away and that the deadline was a little close.

This earnt the newbie the nick name “Demon Emailer”

The ridiculous email continues

“I am sure that you all have been formulating your ideas for what you are going to talk about since the time you volunteered to do these sessions.¬†”

The response I SHOULD have sent:

No you patronizing bitch, I have not been formulating ideas, I offered to do this a week ago. I have been up to my eyeballs in real work besides I am conducting a 15 minute ice breaker I do not need to spend hours doing it, now fuck off and chill out.

I didn’t. I was polite.

Demon Emailer continues:

If your workload is such that you don’t think those timelines are workable, we have another couple of graduates who are interested in helping out

At this point I genuinely turned purple in the face at the audacity of the demon emailer. How dare you suggest that I am incapable of delivering a 15 minute session in a months time. No I do not need help, its FIFTEEN MINUTES of material. I could piss longer than that, this is not hard.

Anyway, after my hulk climbed back inside, and my face returned to its olivey colour, I decided to march up to the demon emailers office and ‘ave a word’

Demon emailer can’t be thinking they can get away with this for the rest of their time here!

Polite conversation was had. Through gritted teeth I hasen to add.

Its at this point that¬†I am convinced I am working with a full on robot. I have never seen anyone fidget less in my life. The wind could have picked up and their hair wouldn’t have even budged plus their posture was waaay too straight to be normal.

We move on a couple of weeks.

Demon emailer decided that they wanted a rehersal of the event.

Much to irritation. Again, this is 15 minutes. Not hard.

Reluctantly I drag myself to this meeting.

Demon Emailer then says:

“Now then Sacha, let’s role play your piece shall we, lets practice all together (insert painfully perky smile) and then we can all make sure we are perfect. I have trained people across the world¬† and¬† run events for small groups to huge conferences, and I know that to look natural and unpracticed you need to practice practice practice”

#RAGE

Firstly, no I will not role play my section, I am not four, and we are not in drama class now love.

Secondly, your telling me your life story like I give a fuck.

Thirdly, you sat perfectly still for so long theres a fly nesting in your perfect hair (ok not true, but I wish it had been)

Fourthly, wipe that perky smile off your face before I do

Evidently I didn’t actually say any of these things, but I really wanted to.

*sigh*

I did refuse to participate though. I mean really, role playing my 15minute section. Delusional.

Conniption- My Secret Inner Hulk

con¬∑nip¬∑tion/k…ôňąnipSH…ôn/

Conniption
Noun: A fit of rage or hysterics

Conniption

I am literally the poster child for conniption, and angry lesbian!

As my dear friend likes to tell me on a regular basis.

I tend not to ‘do’ many emotions other than extremely angry or extremely happy.

This causes problems.

Mostly for other people, but occasionally for myself.

Particularly when people can’t handle me, and they make me feel like I need to moderate myself on their behalf. We don’t tend to stay acquainted for long.

Working in the public sector being a conniption is a massive problem.

People are often unsure how to take me, I am admittedly slightly unstable, (in a conniptiony type way- not mentally!) and they are never sure if I will react to something with a fit of rage, or a fit of hysterical laughter.

When someone has something important, or controversial to tell me I can see their unconscious wincing before they open their mouth… and then they brace themselves for whatever reaction they might get.

If I had more of a heart I’d feel bad about it. But I shan’t apologise for who I am, and if I missed a few emotional DNA strands along the whole birthing process well that ain’t really my fault is it?!

Thing is, usually I respond with red rage. This is normally a burst of momentary rage.

I would speak loudly.

(This is most important. I find it highly irritating that people always tell me that I shout at them.

I don’t

I am loud ALL THE TIME! Just because your little ears can’t handle any noise above a whisper, does not mean I am shouting)

I might spew some profanities at whomever had irritated me this time. This adds to their perception of me shouting.

I am not shouting. I am talking loudly, and….passionately.

And thats another thing. Why do people always take my passion for aggression?

I am loud, and passionate, therefore I MUST be aggressive?

AND WHY, why do they try to make out like its a bad thing, and make you feel bad for it?

Well I don’t, I am entirely proud of me, and won’t be made to feel bad about it.

Generally after an outburst of my inner hulk If you give me five minutes, I am over it.

They usually aren’t… for quite some time.

I don’t get this.

If people stopped getting offended all the time, we would all get on a lot better. People say offensive things to me all the time, you don’t see me crying over it.

“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” “sticks and stones”

For example, my manager recently told me:

” You really need to be a little bit less Sacha. Your personality is a risk to your reputation.”

I instantly felt my inner hulk smashing at my skin to get out.

Inner Hulk

I managed to contain my inner hulk.

Just.

However I did have several mental senarios run through my head – mostly of jumping across the desk and savagely punching him in the face, knocking a few teeth out and wiping the satisfied smirk smile off of their face.

I did none of them and contained myself, with great mental sacrifice.

After an hour long lecture from my manager about how I need to moderate myself, and how bad my personality is blah blah blah… As¬†I left the scene of crime, my manager had the cheek to tell me not to get road rage on the way home.

Cunt.