shadow manager

"the world is round!" or something to that effect, columbus cried.
today, i've worked my body and mind almost to death. as always. single, attractive enough girl left in the office to work the slate clean. and did i mention single? the tragedy of it all.

i've just been told someone MA "must accommodate" manager is taking over my position as account consulant. I, the lowly 24 year old overachiever shall have to train her. her the manager by whim.

my former college prof said, "the world is round." i'm too numb to even understand.

see, i have so many projects lined up, ironed out. and she's just slow. cretin slow. i want to shake her to death.

the key is to look at this with an open mind. by that, it should mean look at it positively. so, to train an incompetent manager who can't even write a decent program, much more a speech or script should be what, a prize? a prize for being so brilliant?

fuck! she'll be doing, excuse me, pretend to do what i have been doing with a managerial salary, what i have been doing with a proletariat fare.

the kicker is i have to be the one to introduce her to the big bosses in my account, excuse me, my fast fading account. it felt like having abortion or smothering my own 6 month old kid. i never had either but it must have felt that way.

the only consolation i've got is the love from the people in my account. they felt truly, sincerely sad for me. there were cries of revolt, of underground movements. che guevara lives!

and moi keeps me smiling and alive. ah! to live for the joy of someone's affection. i can have the world flat and me hanging on the edge about to fall if it means holding his hand.

my co-marxist on mondays would smile her cheshire cat smile and my sis (me in the parallel universe) would do that thing with her hands, what's that, boneless wrist flip flop and scream. "Seeeees!"

puking on the legends

brandy is forever off my list of consumables. my intestines had the guts to puke on the shoes that belong to well-respected, much sought-after basketball legends. it escaped me that drowning bismuth could be messy and ugly. in the hazy, drunken state that i was in, the world was clearer ironically. but the wretching just couldn't be stopped. and that song that just kept ringing in my head, spinning, whirling, on and on, screamed the bedevil out of me.

three days the alcohol polluted my veins, messed up my system. but the outside looked as dandy as ever. bismuth the pretender could not be drowned.