changeling: (writing)
Sitting here waiting for a podmate to GO HOME so I can put on some music to jive to while I knock over some more work on the Project of Doom (I forgot my headphones to my music player today).
For all I know, she's sitting there thinking the same thing.
changeling: (sick)
I'm suffering rather at the moment from what my folkie friends and I have been calling Typhoid Kevan. Kevan came to the National Folk Festival (over the Easter weekend) with some sort of nasty respiratory infection and spread it around with every affectionate bear hug he gave, and he gave a lot. So I missed the last night of the festival because I was in bed by eight (but Cherie and I watched the first episode of the new season of Doctor Who together, so that was something).

The next day I had to help pack up camp and drive home with Jus – he kindly did most of the eightish hours' drive, though. I did about an hour and a half. Let me tell you: when you're feeling sick and wobbly, the last thing you want to do is stand in the cold and pull up tent pegs.

So then I stayed at home for two days. It was nice apart from a serious attack of Guilt from my Guilt Gnome, who doesn't really believe that I'm allowed to take sick leave, and is afraid that I'm going to be fired for it. There are Reasons for this, unfortunately, but I wasn't really feeling up to having a monster conversation with him/her/it about it yesterday.

Today I'm back at work. I have lots of things on my plate at the moment, the most immediate of which is processing our Annual Reprints. I came in to a desk entirely covered in the sodding things. Piles of textbooks, all with print-outs of corrections in place.

The interesting thing about reprints is that all the pages I have to check pretty much look the same. Some of them are printed and some of them are emailed PDFs, but the corrections should just look like the printed book except fixed. So if someone leaves a pile of books on my desk with no note and pages inside, I'm going to check them against the marked up book and notate my spreadsheet.

Guess what! The piles were just the reprints guy leaving a bunch of books I'd already done two weeks ago on my desk! AWESOME. Just wasted my morning.

I would like to go back to bed now, please.
changeling: (Default)
So my mother has asked me to help re-type in a whole lot of incident reports as their server crashed (seems to be a regular occurrence here) and they lost them all. I came across this, er, gem:

Resident stated that he was trying to urinate in bottle and fell out of bed.


Why? WHY??

On further reading, it seems as though said bottle is part of the resident's, er, night-time equipment. I think I'm relieved.
changeling: (Default)
I am fricking tired. Once again I end up tireder at the end of the weekend than at the beginning, but I suspect that the end of Daylight Savings may have something to do with it.

I have been so tired lately, as I have been working two jobs (both part time). So today was my last day at The Nursing Home, and I manage to agree to work at Another Nursing Home for two days this week. I only agreed to Mum passing my mobile on because I thought I'd be a last resort. I guess I was. At least I can leave early. I have them at my mercy, mwaha.

This means that his week, I will be working three jobs: the first nursing home, that I've just finished, the second nursing home (Wednesday and Friday), and my Actual Job (Tuesday and Thursday). And let's not forget the freelance editing I have to do for my Actual Job (just worked a bit on it right now, as a matter of fact, but it's hard to concentrate with V upstairs having TV louder than humanly copable), and the edit of an academic paper for smooth use of English (author is Danish), which I said I'd do this week.

Argh.

I'm not allowed to worry about money. Whenever I do, I get myself woefully overcommitted. Whether the overcommittedness is my fault (through money worry) or the universe's (she's worried she doesn't work enough! Let's give her LOTS to do) seems a moot point.

I can't wait for next week, when all I'll have to do is ... pack and move house. Argh.
changeling: (Default)
Check out this. It's a little ditty about a giant green lizard destroying the Earth, and is truly AWESOME. So cool. I think I'm gonna watch it again. My favourite bit is how the lizard has little glasses.

Oh, I'd recommend you watch this. It's very well done. Amusing with a whack of pathos at the end.


So, job. I've applied for another one at Oxbridge, and they gave me a call today to say they had my resume, and didn't realise I wanted full-time work (I'd applied for a part-time position earlier this year, but they ended filling it from within). I think this is a positive sign.

I also applied tonight for an editorial assistant position at [publisher]. They basically want an admin assistant with frills, which is pretty much me ... I wrote three pages on my cover letter. This is two and a half more than usual, but they requested I answer their criteria.

Work continues to both suck and rock. I'm working at a brand new aged care home – temp company 1 sorted it for me without even knowing I had a background in aged care administration. I had a stupid amount of work given to me today, and I couldn't get it all – or even half of it – done. This is what happens when your receptionist/admin assistant is a moron and doesn't think to set up a database (I can no longer direct my snark at the girl I replaced. She is attempting to straighten the office based on what the girl before her left behind. Still, I suspect I am more knowledgable etc than girl-I-replaced. I know I have better spelling. STILL! I will not snark!), so you have no list of resident next-of-kin or staff addresses. This sucks when the manager asks you to send out a letter of introduction to EVERY cognisant resident, all residents' next-of-kin, staff and attending doctors. It also severely sucks when you can't find your predecessor's stash of sticky labels so you have to label the envelopes BY HAND.

But! the people are nice, I'm going to have a ball writing a how-to manual for reception (if I can find the time around the endless addressing-of-envelopes), and the outgoing manager told me that I ROXXOR HER SOXXORS (well, near enough).

I got asked twice today why I didn't switch my (own, personal) air conditioner on. Well, because I was not that hot! Also, I am trying to acclimatise myself to summer by not refrigerating myself. Not to mention the savings in electricity.

Also, one of the RN div 1s told me today that I looked like the perfect receptionist "like out of a book". I think this was meant to be a compliment; I choose to presume that in COMMUNIST RUSSIA (her name is Olga. Surely she has to come from Communist Russia or there is no justice in the world) receptionists are revered above all persons, including presidents. I'm not quite sure how I look like the "perfect receptionist". Perhaps it was my long hem (losing weight has dropped the hem an inch or so even lower) on my skirt – though it is a nifty handkerchief hem! I'm not sure where my chic 20s-influenced curls fit in. I don't know; maybe it was just my glasses.

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