I need this job, I don’t get enough stress at home

All paid jobs absorb and degrade the mind – Aristotle 

I will be SO glad when tomorrow is over, and my five weeks of annual leave starts.  My Pointy-Haired Boss has been all over the place like a mad woman’s excreta lately, and this week has been particularly bad.

Picture this: We’re in her office.  I’ve just handed her a vital letter which she needs to authorise to go to the CEO for signing.  We’re talking about work stuff, and she’s in a filthy mood.

PHB: There’s a lot to do, you know!! You go on leave soon….(checks leave roster; little eyes widen in horror and fury)…you go on leave at the end of THIS WEEK!?  You can’t leave this (pointing at my letter, which is now on her desk) – it’s your JOB!!

Silence, in which she glares at me accusingly, expecting an answer.

Me:  Umm…..

So, yes.  There’s nothing going on there that a good elephant tranquilliser wouldn’t fix.  She’s known about this leave since the beginning of the year, when she demanded I tell her exactly what leave I wanted to take for 2008, and when I wanted to take it.  It’s not exactly a surprise to her.  She even knows it’s so we can do a reno.

I find it hard to work around her.  She’s incredibly mercurial with her moods.  And she doesn’t bother to hide it when she’s in a crap one, either.  This is really draining for me.    Still, I do get a big kick out of reading the Dilbert comic strips.  For some reason, they appeal to my black sense of humour.