May 20th, 2009 (10:14 pm)
current mood: irritated
Have a long list of things I ought to be doing and can't be bothered to do any of them. Can't remember what I was going to write either. Oh well...
Still angry, still pissed off with Guiding. It might sound stupid, getting your knickers in a twist over who's going to water a few flower tubs, but it's the principle of it. If you come up with a plan, however sensible it may be, which involves representatives from all units, you don't decide that that's what's going to happen, agree that your crony will start it off and not tell anyone else about it. You inform everyone of your plan and ask for their opinion before it is implemented, to ensure that a) they all agree and b) they know exactly what's expected of them before they're landed with a job. You do not just say 'this is what's going to happen and this is what you have to do,' especially when it involves people giving up their free time in the holidays.
I am so annoyed I am going to raise this point at the next district meeting. Usually I am too busy writing minutes - a rude and offensive version that is heavily edited before distribution to other Guiders - to contribute much to the discussion, but I am so annoyed about this I have to make my point. Luckily the meeting is not for two weeks so I may be less annoyed by then and will be able to make my point in a calm and civil manner. It may be unacceptable to decide plans and implement them without discussing it, but it's equally unacceptable to shout and be aggressive when arguing against it.
I really do wish there were some things I could throw about and break.
Am not sure how much of the anger/depression is hormone-related, though, so have started taking evening primrose oil in the hope that that might help...
Couple of things made me smile today though:
- Had forgotten completely that the French Open starts on Sunday which OH MY GOD means two weeks on Monday is Queens and the start of the grass-court season once again. Where the hell did all that time go?
- The captain of the table tennis club emailed me to thank me for the report I wrote of their Roses match and to say he thought it was really good. I think he was glad of the publicity; I gathered table tennis does not get a lot. (This may be because it is a very boring sport to watch. Lawn tennis is far superior.) I was pleased my report read well, I was a bit worried about some of my Roses reports because I have never written sports before, but as well as the table tennis captain the sports editor said they were good too, so I was relieved about that.
This may be a fairly simple observation, but it is a lot easier to write a decent match report when a) you understand the rules of the sport in question so you know what's going on and b) you actually watch the match. Oddly enough neither of those points had occurred to me before I went to Roses.
Also... on Monday I went to a read-through of the next Theatre Group pantomime, which is Mother Goose. I went partly because Mum and Dad were both out and I had nothing better to do and partly to see if it was the same version we did when I was about ten. (It wasn't.) I did not go because I planned to be in it, and after the read-through had finished and I was handing my book back to Steve I made this clear.
'Oh, that's a shame,' said Steve. 'I thought you might want to audition for Jill [the principal girl].'
'Well, I would,' said I, 'but I'm going to be News Editor of SCAN and it's going to take a lot of my time.'
'Take a book anyway,' said Steve, 'and an audition form, and think about it.'
So I took the book, and the form, and I have thought about it, but I can't do it. I don't want to clog up that many nights. I didn't miss it at all in High Society, and I suspect I'll never move forwards properly with anything until I have fully disentangled myself from Theatre Group. I was tempted, but only because I was flattered that it was hinted strongly that if I were to audition for the part I would get it.
Five years ago I'd have been ecstatic to be in this situation. Isn't it ironic that you never get things until you don't want them any more... or perhaps that, on getting them, you realise they weren't all they were cracked up to be after all.