Wednesday, 21 September 2016
When Procrastination isn't enough...
Don't you just hate that whimsically debilitating feeling on a Monday morning when you want to dream about something magical, mystical and downright magnificent, but end up trying to decide what psychedelic paint might look good on your office table to spook your super stuck-up "Miss Polly Perfect" manager with the twinkly eye for the new administrative assistant with his pert bum that looks like it came out of an Ann Summers catalogue circa 1983.
Procrastination can be a mighty fine thing; it can take us to the heights of ecstasy when we want to escape from the pits of despair. I can first-rate procrastinate when I'm revising for an Accountancy exam and I can switch off dazzlingly when my Dad drags me to the pub to listen to yet another Leicester footy match on the Sky/BT/Czech Prostitute channel (yes there seems to be rather a number of suspect ads on the foreign controlled footy channels...not difficult to wonder why....) Yet it seems so darn difficult elsewhere! Most office staff hate having to update spreadsheets in the afternoon despite having the Excel formulas which are designed to allow our brain to drift to an exotic place whilst our hands and eyes do the hard work of shuffling data from one end of the page to another. Never quite works out that way! I love dreaming about Jack Farthing playing a rather broody, malicious banker in Poldark and wishing he'd come over and command me to serve him and do his bidding- do a bit of accounting here, a back rub/ oil massage there....the usual erotic elements that come to mind for those supposed dirty/disgusting "Lucifer" trans people out there: trust me it's a MAJOR Epic Stereofail used to tarnish perfectly acceptable sexual appetite that exists in some trans people. Suffice to say I'm like the Virgin Mary than any sort of sycophant for the Devil when it comes to actual experience! I'm more likely seen fawning over the ice cream man to get a free Whippy refill or flattering a jewellery salesman to reduce the price on a ravishingly beautiful Amethyst brooch that I had my eye on 6 months ago but couldn't be bothered to pay full price for and then get 20% knocked off with0ut having to knock him off...a relief!
Sadly I never think about such "lace and whips" hijinks in the office. I never hear anyone have such thoughts. It's usually what picture might look best in my bedroom this season or whether my Dad would like Lincolnshire sausage or Quavers for dinner tonight. Very mundane forms of procrastination abound. Yet I can never truly forget about how mundane the work is, how screechy the voice of the answering machine can be when having to listen to messages on repeat to copy down the "very important" number that the boss needs to call-back "that very minute" but he's buggered off to play miniature golf in Murcia with his haggard business partner who thinks trans people are "mentally insane" and "need a shaft up their man-pussy to make them come back to earth again" (yes he really did say that the rakish young "100% Solid hetero" knave...what a lad....).
So #SorryNotSorry but procrastination is just not enough for the working environment. We need a mahoosively brainy psychoanalyst to come up with post-procrastination techniques that keep us being malcontent as opposed to being malevolent. Tough ask I grant ye, but then again Monseigneur Tom Hobbes did remind us that life is "nasty, brutish and short". Whimsies can't cut it, so what about hardcore dreaming, with virtual reality filter glasses being available to every Tom, Dick and Harriet in an office environment. Make it available on the NHS and cure the productivity problem 110% with options for spending time with Poldark, The Night Manager or that dishy vicar from Grantchester I can't quite recollect (James Norton drool klaxon). Otherwise it's back to the shopping queues (as annoying and draining mentally as they are physically..urgh!) and blurred lines of fattening cuisine for me. Sigh.