Mummyfried

Below are key messages I would like to deliver to management... That's right, to Mummyfried (the boss of the boss:  my own alter ego)  the big boss upstairs, the vertically challenged bosses I gave birth to, the bosses at the paid place of employment:  To Mummyfried:  Stop the 60 -70 working week and dreams about really being a tall, blonde, athletically thin, dedicated houseproud yummy mummy and fabulous friend. It's not working. Take a stand. Get to it and sort it out. (Stop being a slave to the system, eating, and start exercising! the rest will follow). To the ankle-biter bosses: The days of empty threats are over. You fail to pick up, I promise to throw out!  My feet deserve a lego free walking path environment!  To the boss upstairs. Give me a break. Please? Like, a real one? A lottery ticket, a wealthy uncle who wants to hand it all over, a warm hug, and some hot chocolate? Please? Don't carry me leaving footprints in the sand, if I fail to act on th...

Since 1 January 2015 and perhaps a little before then, I have been missing in action (MIA). Aside from close friends, Mr Lucky and the ankle biters noticing, my MIA status suggests the following state of play: 1. Every one else has started the new year with much gusto and madness and they haven't had time to notice I am missing. Let's face it,  2015 to date has been operating on warp speed - I haven't had time to notice if anyone else is missing too. 2. My stats regarding my readership or followers are incorrect - nobody reads my blog.  I don't really want to explore this further but there is an ever so slight suggestion (I really hope not) that my blogs are.... floating in dead, unread, uninteresting space in the WebSphere. In January I submitted a public service contract role application and got the job. The job, while mostly in English, requires Greek. This, like my readership statistics is a challenge and requires some attention. Also since January I: Packe...

While I was on maternity leave, pretending I knew what I was doing with Little Miss, my role became redundant.  I loved that job even though I had worked ridiculous hours in a very unhealthy environment.  I had been looking forward to going back to work and its challenges but dreaded being away from Little Miss.    I went into mourning and started to wear more black. I looked for other work but couldn't secure a role that offered flexible work hours and seniority, something I would have had, had I returned to the role I left, or lost. Recruiters advised that I should take a full time job and work my way to flexibility after a year, more likely two years. Some even advised I just take a role less challenging / demanding. My black dress code soon became mixed with angry. I secured a part time role that was challenging.  I was made to think and juggle an enormous workload. The role lacked seniority and bells and whistles associated with that....