My boss on occasion does remember that he has an assistant with the intellect to do more than answer the phone politely and put appointments on his calendar. (Lucky, lucky man.) So when he does remember this and gives me a project, they tend to be big, time consuming, monster projects of doom. It’s like he saves all the menial, tedious shit and waits for the real whoppers just to see if I can take the instant switch from prolonged periods of earth-shattering boredom to days on end of work work WORK.
To be fair, I don’t actually think he gets any sick pleasure out of the situation. Honestly with all the meetings he goes to (as high as he is on the academic administration food chain, all he ever really does is go from one meeting to another) I’m surprised he remembers I’m here at all. I’d probably lose my mind if I had to run back and forth across campus all day like he does. But while I understand where he’s coming from, it doesn’t change my instant deflation every time he says, “Hey, I got something I want you to do.”
The last big project he gave me meant I had to learn a whole new software system and reorganize the classroom scheduling process for the entire campus. Six months later, I’m still not technically done with it (but that’s because a certain group of people did not follow direction and screwed up my data for the fall schedule), and at this rate it sometimes feels like I never will be.
The project he gave me yesterday before he went out of town has a more finite deadline: he wants it when he gets back on Monday. I’ll spare you the tedious, mind-numbing details; let’s just say I’ve been working on it all day today, plus about two hours yesterday, and I’m halfway done…with the first SEMSTER of data he wanted. I’ve been staring at reports in Excel all day. I stopped to write this simply so my eye would stop twitching.
And now that I’ve taken a short reprieve from my project o’ doom, all I really want to do is rock out to The Black Keys on Spotify and stare at this picture on my bulletin board:
The ex gave it to me last year, and while I had to “edit” the language in order to keep it posted by my desk, it reminds me that there is sunshine and clouds and green grass in which to frolic—not just these beige walls and computer screens which currently surround me. And in a few short hours, I will be able to leave this place where the money comes from and the soul goes to die. I will go out into the bright wide world and frolic to my little kitty-heart’s content.
And not a single fuck will be given the rest of the day.