Tag Archives: work

Working it!

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Stress

Stress (Photo credit: topgold)

Phew! This week I was NOT sacked.

But if you’d asked my inner pessimist what the outlook was on Friday, she probably would have sighed and reached for the nearest super-sized chocolate bar. Why?

All it took was a single, solitary phone call.

My usual employer had his personal assistant call to arrange a meeting. That’s not too shocking, I hear you say. Except, I rarely have contact with my work via anything but email.

“The boss wants some changes,” said the PA.

“He’s getting a bit bored,” said the PA.

“Tell me more,” I implored.

“Oooooh, he’d just like to see you,” fudged the PA.

Earliest available time? Monday. Two full days and a little bit more of anxiety, second-guessing and self-doubt. Good times!

If the weekend was anything to go by, it seems I was raised to find a hidden meaning in the most innocuous of conversations. I was definitely being fast-tracked to the unemployment lines.

Monday rolled around bright and sunny. My sense of dread only increased.

I walked into the office wearing my most patriotic business colours (bright green) and my power boots (suede, in case you were wondering).

“So,” he said. “I’d like to make some changes. I’m getting a bit bored.”

I’ve heard that before, I thought. Here it comes.

“What can we do to really stand out from the crowd?” he said.

“We?” I asked. “Oh, we!” Reality was dawning.

So, I was not sacked. Two and a bit days of worry had been in vain.

That sunny day turned out to be a good omen. I’ve never been so happy to check my emails and find work waiting.

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He picked wildflowers for me . . .

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It’s the gift that keeps on giving. It’s the thought that comes to mind when something else has been forgotten. And it all dates back to a hot and dusty weekend in our first year of marriage.

We were both working full-time – sometimes weekends – so we could save our pennies and pay off the house.

It was a Saturday afternoon. Dust hung in the air and a storm was brewing. I’d spent the day pottering about the house while my other half was at work.

I heard the ute before I saw it and flicked on the kettle before going out to meet him.

What happened next was unexpected and, perhaps, that’s why it was so memorable.

There he stood with a giant bunch of wildflowers in his arms – hand-picked just for me.

They lasted for a few days but I kept them until a layer of dust weighed them down.

You might think that’s the end of it. But no.

Ever since, if there’s been an anniversary or birthday forgotten, it doesn’t seem to matter quite so much.

After all, he picked wildflowers for me.

Let’s get started . . .

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Where to begin?
This blog has been months in the planning, only held up by my indecision over what to say first.
So I’ll start with a disclaimer . . . of sorts.
The last few years have been quite a journey from work, kids and moving house to another kid, a few more moves and a great deal of procrastination. In other words – life.
There have been times when I thought I was in charge and in control but reality writes a different story, hence . . . Mutiny Mama.
It’s my take on the everyday – all written with a smile and sometimes a sigh.
So what can you expect from this blog?
Well, a few observations, a healthy dose of reflection, a dash of introspection, an element of escapism and some fun.
So, let’s begin . . .