Wanted

Yesterday was my final day working for the company. The eight weeks flew right by. But then that might be an age thing. Either way, they didn’t want me to go.

Earlier in the week, the company’s Head of Recruitment had been on the phone to me twice outside working hours. The department’s boss is looking to find money in his budget. My direct superior was virtually clinging to my leg to stop me from leaving the building, bless her.

Like the best performances, you want to come in, do your magic, and then, rather than outstaying your welcome, leave them wanting more. My problem is I’m easy to guilt. Only contracted for the eight weeks, I still feel like I’m leaving them in the lurch. Of course with the continually ongoing work there never is going to be an end.

The animation studio producer soon figured out how to push my buttons. Whenever the schedule was looking dodgy, she’d wander into the kitchen while I was making a coffee and do the whole “Woe is me, we’re not going to get the work finished on time” routine. And I’d fall for it every darn time.

Even though I knew the routine inside and out, it would still end with me assuring her the work would be finished on time. And then I would go through hell figuring out the process to get it done. Every. Damn. Time.

So I may be back there. But not just yet. Typically, it’s only when you’re really busy that work starts to roll in. Work Buddy outlined the next round of pharma work that is coming up, starting with him off on a jolly to Paris on Monday.

Just for today, before anything new kicks off, I got to put my feet up and just laze. A package arrived in the post with Arctic Monkey’s excellent second album, Favourite Worst Nightmare, and a pile of upcoming singles, including Marilyn Manson’s Heart-Shaped-Glasses. (Thank you Mr C).

So I blasted them out as I tore through today’s Samurai Su Doku. Tomorrow I’ll probably run the London Marathon. In my head.