Rough day, rough hands

Work was horrid. I was interrupted all day long, with requests for help. Somehow my team managed without me for four months, but I wouldn't know it. They are all firmly latched back on my tit. Why? Because instead of agonizing over something for half an hour, they can come to me and I'll give them an answer in two minutes or less. Or because suddenly, I'm back and they are uncertain of themselves. Or maybe the other people they went to when I was gone are a bit less friendly. I have tried to train them, show them, teach them the shortcuts and the tricks, but most of the team is not technically-minded enough to understand, so they do not retain what I show them, again and again. Which is why I do what I do and they have me as a resource. But I still get frustrated. I can understand the uncertainty of the two new people, as I'm mentoring them and they have (understandably) high anxiety about making a mistake that will cost a client thousands of dollars.

But by 9:30 this morning three tenured people were hyper-ventilating over issues that seemed insurmountable to them because they could not seem to break the problem down into managable pieces for resolution. One of them has been doing this job for 5 years, and she was in tears. So I told her the first three steps. Then I gave her an overview of what needed to be done and told her to see me if she still needed help. She didn't need help, but she did feel the need to pull me aside and give me a blow-by-blow of everything she had done, as well as to vent her frustrations with what caused the problem. She did great. I told her so, and I commisserated with her frustration. She emailed me a thank you, I popped back a note that it was all about teamwork and that she'd resolved it beautifully. I tried to be kind and good-natured, but inside I was just floored. I'm a professional, not a nursemaid.

This afternoon was my time. My project time: no calls, no stopping by, no cries for help. Interruptions for emergencies only. Yeah right. I had 6 people stop by my desk. Two of them were the new people. I wanted to give them a verbal slap and send them on their way, but I helped and reminded them gently, each time, that I was doing projects. Finally, after one of them interrupted me for the fourth time, I reminded her about our discussion Tuesday on prioritizing. "Does this have to be done this afternoon," I asked. When she answered no, I told her I would get with her tomorrow morning. I appreciate that she has the time to tackle her project, but I've been waiting all week to handle mine. *sigh* By 4pm I was irked because I'd been interrupted so many goddamned times that I'd missed an important step and had to call support back East for a fix. Fuck me.

By 5pm I was ready for a drink. I chilled a bottle of viognier in the fridge and, after a search of the cupboards and the refrigerator, I decided to cook a nice dinner: thai satay, saffron rice, and a thai-style cucumber salad. It took about an hour from start to finish: thawing the chicken, cutting it into strips, marinating it, skewering it, and then grilling it took the most time. The salad was pretty quick, the rice very easy with the rice steamer, but the spicy peanut sauce with its coconut milk base really required patience. Still, it all came together perfectly--well, almost perfectly--the rice was a bit sticky. I sat out on the patio with a glass of the viognier and listened to the Jerry Garcia and Sanjay Mishra "Blue Incantation" album while I ate my dinner slowly, savouring the complementary flavours of spicy and sweet, tangy and smoky, creamy and fruity.

I exchanged a few emails with Chris at work. There is so much that I like about him, but there are a couple of things that bother me. One of them seems so minor, and yet, I can't seem to lose it in my impressions of him. His hands. They are nice big hands, broad and smooth, but he really doesn't take care of his nails, and he snags my hair and skin with them. I've tried to ignore it, but my skin is so sensitive to touch... and then there is the fact that I wince imagining being intimate with him because hands and fingers are such an important part of lovemaking for me and his nails the way they are now would cut me up. So I'm trying to find a way to ask him to buff his nails or get a manicure without: a) hurting his feelings, b) implying that its a requirement for further intimacy, or c) implying that he'll 'get some' if he does. Men do tend to read between the lines, trying to read whatever hidden messages women leave lying in wait, and I'm too direct for that.