I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant: Baby on a Boat
That has nothing to do with anything. Just the best title of the week. It needed to be shared. Remember when I had a baby on a boat? A baby I didn't know I was pregnant with until it shot out of my vag, hit the deck, skidded starboard and went tumbling in to the water? Yes, that was some good fun.
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Twit. Remember her? That woman of colossal dumbassery? That lady who had a baby at 42 and can't stop talking about herself? The one who while on maternity leave left me cleaning up her work, and no password for an important spreadsheet she locked? Yes, her. She of the strangest butt shape I've ever seen and the weird secondhand-shop-from-the-'80s clothing? The straw hair and hyena laugh?
She has breast cancer.
At least that is what she is going around telling people. It may be true. It may not. Her story isn't the same from person to person, but she does plan to be out for three weeks starting mid-July. She can't say if she is getting a lumpectomy or a mastectomy. She told some people she'd be going through chemo, and others that she would have radiation. Of course she could be out-of-her-mind freaked-out. After all, she is 42, has 3-month-old baby and breast cancer. A lot to deal with.
If it is true, I feel terrible for her, but I still dislike her with an intense burning hatred--a hatred that she is able to stoke every single day. Like when she emailed me yesterday to say, "I overheard you talking about a surgery, and I assumed you're the one having surgery. I'm going to have surgery too, so when is your surgery?" I will gladly yank her breast off for her. I totally enjoy how she so freely admits to eavesdropping.
I talked this over with my therapist today. My conflicting feels regarding this. How I feel terrible for her, but how I resent her even more in light of this because she now has a permanent carte blanche to be the biggest fuck-up at work. If everyone always made excuses about her poor work being because she was 42 and pregnant, just think how it will be now. I won't be able to criticize a single fucking thing she does. I have to suffer in complete silence now. Otherwise, I look like one hell of a selfish asshole. Because, come on, the lady has cancer! How dare I point out that her IQ is around 75, and she can't even code her own timesheet correctly without attempting to blame it on someone else. I didn't know suffering before now. I had only seen glimpses.
What to do? Feel sorry for her and hate her at the same time. Say "that's terrible" out of one side of my mouth, and "What the fuck did she fuck up this time?" out the other? Then feel resentful and guilty all at the same time? Oh my nerves. My therapist helped me see this all in perspective, but it is going to take some work. She admitted that I was totally screwed on this one. Great. You know it is bad when your therapist can't even find a way to make it even the tiniest bit better. We did agree that I should try to stop putting work before myself. Be more like Twit, but with my ethics still in place. Don't blithely screw people over, but at the same time don't fret if I have lots of doctors' appointments or am sick on a time-entry day. She has a point.
Ho hum. And so it goes.
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"There's no hillbillies pitching tents here."
The best taken-out-of-context phrase for the day. It's from Homicide: Life on the Streets. Thinking of shabby country folks with erections made me laugh. Even if that is not remotely what they were talking about, but they should have been. It makes for a way more interesting conversation. Hillbillies! Pitching Tents! What do you meant there are no hillbillies with erections in these parts? Not even hillbillies in tents with erections? And you call yourself a town? Hrmph.
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