The project goes live on Tuesday. They're doing what is called the cut over this weekend.
In my work calendar I am marked as Out of Office from 5 p.m. tonight. I've spread the word that I will be off the grid for the weekend. This is not technically true, but the broadband at my mother's place is not plentiful, there's no real WIFI in the granny flat where I sleep and the mobile reception is patchy because Mum lives behind a big hill. And my work computer is being left in Melbourne, where I can't get to it, at all.
Pity, eh?
But at ten to five I was told that some work needed to be done. Of course it did. That it was sorted into a virtual queue that would have meant I could have done it fresh on Tuesday - but no, it needed to be done NOW.
Well, I held my line. After six months of working long hours, weekends. After accumulating 33 working hours over three days over Easter (I'm contracted to work a 37.5 hour week and not work public holidays) something snapped. My calendar has been marked as unavailable for months. I've mentioned this to my boss on numerous occassions, and they've told me I won't be required for this weekend repeatedly.
Oh, and for the first time in about 15 years I didn't finish the book group book for our regular meeting which was held on Tuesday.
And I know that I work on projects and you take the good with the bad, the lulls with the mania - but this has been freaking ridiculous, expecially over the last month, where you'd dealing with people who are stressed out places beyond the reasonable.
So when the request came to work back tonight came it was met with an initial stony silence. And then a minor compromise.
"I can stay until six. I'll get these bits done (and found a path through some complex work which I could finish within that time). Then I have to go to the airport."
That shuts down the request pretty quickly.
Okay, I didn't go to the airport. I went to an art class that I'd booked a few weeks ago. There, I painted on a canvas for two and a half hours while sipping on a gin and tonic with some friends. I'm a writer not a painter, but I loved every minute of this.
I'm going to the airport tomorrow morning, after I drop off the cat with Blarney. So I do have to go to the airport. Just tomorrow. But I felt the need for the white lie
And I'm a bit split in half.
There's the half which feels a bit guilty for not being able to support the team.
And the other side which is overjoyed that I'm going to be interstate, behind a big hill and not able to be contacted by fucking Teams or Outlook.
This is the insidious nature of working in a modern corporate environment.
Oh, and did I tell you I'm looking forward to having my gall bladder out in a few weeks time - so I don't have to be there for week to ten days.
Got that off my chest. It's winding me up writing this. I think I'd better go to Adelaide now.
It's time to wind down completely.
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