Stop Making Sense

I just have to complain. I know it's going to make me feel so much better. This morning, the Accounting Office asked for my help with the relational databases I've been working on that creates both invoices and purchase orders. There are three different files for three different types of invoices. K. works on two of them. S. and her boss, the Comptroller, couldn't find an invoice that S. knew we'd billed because we had the check that cited two invoices. I took the information and went back to my office to look for them. I opened up what we'll call the "JLLCity" files, performed a find request and there they were. I knew they were in that file because I've been working on it for the past couple of days. K. asked that I delete the information in one of the fields. Now she wants it back, so I've been updating this file.

I went back to the Accounting office and showed S. where they were. They were in the wrong database. They should have been in the "Miscellaneous" database. As a matter of fact, there are at least 135 invoices that should have been in that database. Of course, both the Comptroller and S. immediately became irate at K. for putting them in the wrong place. Well, you know. I just create the database; other people enter the data. My goal has been to make the process faster and more efficient for everyone who does billing. In order to do that, I had to rely on K.'s input to some extent. Turns out K's wrong. Again. Great.

I've spent the last month or so working my behind off trying to get the system up and running so that I can find and address needs for more information, design flaws or glitches in the system. That's because, beginning January 3, I won't be in town. After January 8, not only will I not be in town, I'll be heavily drugged for several days. Anything that goes wrong then is just going to have to stay wrong until I get back.

I've been moving information from one database to another all morning. It's not a huge deal, but it's not work I enjoy. The Comptroller suggested that we scrap the "JLLCity" database and create a new one dedicated to that customer. We have invoices for that customer in all three databases. Several thousand records. I'd also need to figure out a way to make all of that information remain accessible in the current files so that we won't be any more confused than we obviously already are. I can do that. No question about it. Can I do it by the first of the year? No. Would it have been better if the responsible party (i.e., the Comprtroller) had actually participated in the planning? Oh yeah. It would have been fine if he'd just looked at the skeleton of the databases after I'd created them. Now it's all just a huge mess.

I was telling Hubby and my Mom over lunch about the whole brouhaha. "I don't know why I care," I said. "But you do," my mom pointed out. She's right. If I design something, if I work on something, I need for it to be as close to perfect as I can make it. This is obviously not perfect at all. I'm frustrated and irritated. I may even be frustrated with myself for being upset about this. I should know better than to get too emotionally invested in anything here. This company is not conducive to that.

I sent the Comptroller's office an email, asking if they wish for me to create that new database. I recommended that we retain the old files in their current location, mark them as void and note that they've been moved to another database. More work for me, but closer to perfection. Will anyone think about this? I don't know. All I know is that if I create this database and then someone says it isn't what they need after all, I'm going to be furious.

I'm clearly going to have to spend some time today divesting myself of emotional ownership. Yeah. That's easy for me to do. In the meantime, I'll just be moving those 135 records. Funny. I don't feel any better about any of this after all.

Hey, Laura Bush, Just Hop on That Table Over There and Grab a Speculum

"People who like this sort of thing will find this the sort of thing they like." ~ Abraham Lincoln

I don't have much on my mind today or maybe I have a lot on my mind, but none of it's very interesting. At some point in our lives, we narrow down our amusing life experiences to maybe a top ten or top five. Those top five or ten are the mainstay of any social gathering. Don't know what to say? Trot out Amusing Anecdote Number 5. Of course, some of them are only entertaining if you actually know the people involved. They have only limited uses.

Being inherently asocial, I've worked hard at developing a social strategy. The first line of action is to ask questions. Make them personal, but not too personal. For instance, do not ask anyone if you can see their Brazillian wax. Maybe just stay away from the waxing topic altogether. If worst comes to worst, you can always play the sports card. I try to keep up with virtually all sports to some extent, just in case I'm in a situation where it comes to that.

At some point, you may be forced to actually talk about yourself, but the odds of that are slim because most people never get the chance to really talk about themselves. Or rather, they talk about themselves, but they know deep down inside that the listener is just basically marking time until they can jump in and hijack the conversational ball.

I'm all about letting people talk about themselves. I think that's one of those things that makes me such a "likeable" person. I can always be counted on to notice anything new (new tie, new hair style, etc.) or express unlimited interest in the minutiae of other people's lives. I really am interested; I don't mean to imply that my social strategy is duplicitous. From time to time, though, it begins to dawn on people that they've known me for years and actually know next to nothing about me. That's when the Top Ten Amusing Personal Anecdotes comes in very handy. It seems like I'm sharing when, in fact, I'm handing out pre-processed information that isn't, in the end, all that illuminating. The top anecdotes tactic has sometimes bought me several years of extra time before I actually have to come up with something revealing about myself.

Aside from being introverted, I like to stay away from the subject of me because so much of my life was so completely beyond the pale that I know tellling will likely have some unpleasant results. People turn a little white. They look at me like I'm from another planet. They start to cry. Sometimes I can see people trying to figure out whether I'm just making things up or deliberately trying to shock. None of these are particularly appealing outcomes. Hence, anecdotes.

All of this was just a rambling build-up to an anecdote that came to mind yesterday. Since I have nothing particularly compelling to talk about, here it is.

Back in the mid 1970's, I worked for a local women's organization. It had started out being edgy and political. They regularlyl held "rap groups." If you don't know what that means, you should probably just count yourself lucky. Suffice it to say that I never had the slightest interest is "rapping" and, furthermore, the very word offends me. It's like the word "depot" that used to irritate me when I was a child. There are just some words I don't like hearing or saying. "Rap" is one of them.

By the time I went to work there, it had degenerated to a very un-cool, grant-funded organization. We participated in a federal grant to help women find jobs. Well, technically it couldn't just be women, because the feds kind of expected equal access, even though men already had all the access they might ever need. We had a help line that I inherited. I got calls from women whose husbands had left them after clearing out all the bank accounts and cancelling credit cards. I talked to women who were battered and looking for a way out. I fielded just about any kind of crisis question imaginable. It was very, very stressful. We rented out space in our building for classes and publicized them. That was my bailiwick, too. (Note: "Bailiwick" is one of those words I love. It just sounds entertaining.)

We had difficulty funding those two services. My boss (who really deserves her own post) put me in charge of one of the fundraisers. I was known as a writer back in those days, with contacts in the community. Alex (the director) came up with the bright idea that we have a bookfair featuring local women authors. Well, I thought that was a terrible idea. I knew exactly how much community support writers got here at the time and it just didn't seem likely to generate enough interest to make even half the money she was counting on from the event. But you know, what choice did I have?

Okay. Here's the anecdote. Finally. One of the local authors contacted me regarding a book about women's gynecological health. I just figured it was like Our Bodies, Ourselves, so I signed her up and sent her a packet. A couple of weeks later, the woman calls me up, seriously agitated. She'd read the packet materials and demanded that she get not one, but two tables. I didn't have a problem with that. There wasn't any danger of running out of tables. I was curious about why she thought she needed two, though.

The author explained to me that she'd really like to have an extra table to stage some demonstrations on how to do your own gynecological examinations. What? She wanted to have some woman (or women, I guess) splayed out on the table with a speculum and a mirror. "Oh no," I said, "No, no, no. No. There will be children and men there, too. I can't possibly allow that." She flipped out. She really didn't see the point in participating if she couldn't do her little demo and, furthermore, what would be so bad about children seeing something perfectly natural and very woman-centered? Well, what can one say to something like that? No. Because I said so. Ultimately, she decided it just wasn't her cup of tea after all and, after haranguing me about my lack of political correctness, suggested that I just take her name off the advertising.

I did and never heard from her again. I left the organization after a year, burned out and even more cynical than I was before I worked there. The job I went to turned out to be even more awful than that one, but in a far less satisfying way. Every year, we have a statewide book fair held at the state capitol grounds, originally organized by Laura Bush. (Personal anecdote #8 is about a friend of mine who got axed from the fair because Laura found out his work was openly critical of her husband.) Every year, I wonder if that author is still trying to find places that will allow her to drop her big girl panties and speculum up.

Brain Dead

On Friday, my therapist asked me what my plans were for Christmas. I was dumbfounded. Plans? I'm supposed to be making plans? Well I don't have any. My big plan is to hide from myself as long as possible how quickly January 8 is looming on the calendar.

Nonetheless, I'm festively attired and jingling still. How can I sustain both? Well, that's why people call me "complex." It's just one more dichotomy amongst many others. I haven't done any Christmas shopping. I don't even have any plans to shop. I haven't decorated my house. I haven't participated in thinking about a menu. I try not to hear Christmas songs, even though they're absolutely inescapable.

I lose track of days and months. Have we gotten through winter yet? I actually had to think about that question over the weekend. Let's see...I know it's not May. Are we close to May, though?

I rode my stationary bike on Saturday and, instead of feeling a bit more energized, I just ended up feeling more exhausted than when I started. That fatigue followed me all day yesterday and today I still seem to be at least partially brain dead.