That sort of sums up my day, really. The question is: Am I a spider or a dust bunny? Either way, I'm sure they'll reject me as a blood donor on Monday because of high blood pressure. I probably shouldn't blame anyone else, but I have this sneaking suspicion that my boss has something to do with it. Turns out that the bastard's been paying me too little three years in a row and he now claims there has been no mistake. There has. Believe me. You owe me money, you twat. For some reason he has to have a row about everything. I don't think a workplace should be like ours. I'm tired of having to rationalise every little thing I do, like asking for a new pack of paper clips ("Why do you need those? Can't you just remove the paper clips from all the old reports?") It's amazing that he's still alive, really. You know what? I'd rather be booed off stage than working for him; at least that way I'd get some feedback for what I do.

Speaking of being booed off stage...no, they received a standing ovation tonight as well. I'm confident they wouldn't be booed off stage even if only half of the cast turned up for work, then started calling each other names while on stage, having a bit of a fight, losing track of the script never to return. OK, perhaps then. My sadistic self would be applauding, though. *grins*

So today we had a heated discussion with the boss about our pay. What he's legally bound do pay us and all that. Meaning there's no way anyone can squirm their way out of that one. Well, unless they're my boss, of course. I don't know what's wrong with him, but he seems very paranoid. I tried to explain to him last year that he wasn't being very rational about things. He thought it preposterous that I was there just for the money. Well, I wasn't. In the beginning. By last year that was the only thing left. One year later...it's becoming worse every day. Seriously. I'm hardly capable of hating anyone, but if I were I'd send them to work with this man. The most interesting thing about him is that he thinks he's very kind and fair. I...I...I have no words to describe him. So I won't.

My biggest concern, though, is that while the ever so brilliant La Cage inspires me tremendously, my boss destroys that inspiration every day. Today I was so tired when I got back from work I would have gone to bed if I hadn't had tickets for the show. The only thing I write these days is this blog and that's just not like me. I've got heaps of stories in my head but I can't seem to sit down and write any of them down. I bought a new notebook and a pen for bringing with me everywhere I go, three months ago. So far I've written a list of my Norwegian dream cast for Noises Off, and that was two months ago. It's supposed to be filled with ideas, notes, observations. The other day (yesterday? Wow, it feels so much longer ago) I was sitting in an outdoor café just watching people for two hours and didn't make any notes. I can't blame the boss for all of that, but he surely has something to do with it.

He keeps calling us stupid. What kind of a man says that to his employees? (Btw, I've taken a few official IQ tests. I'm smarter than Forrest Gump. *smiles*)

Of course, another way of getting some inspiration would be to actually read something, other than the newspaper. Let's face it, the newspaper only brings you stories that will eventually destroy anyone who's slightly more sensitive than a shoehorn. I got the new book in the Georgia Nicolson series last week and I still haven't read the previous book. Shame on me. I know that once I open the book I'll read all of it in one sitting, but I have obviously persuaded myself into thinking I haven't got the time. For instance, if the sixth Harry Potter book was released all of a sudden tomorrow morning, I wouldn't buy it, just because I wouldn't find the time to read it. Considering how much time I spent on the last book (I think just two days, but I did nothing but sleep and read during those two days), that would be just about right, actually.

Since I've been tired for many hours already (La Cage woke me up, though, and if it hadn't, the two gentlemen sitting next to me would have, with their belly-laughs. Thank Bob I knew the lines, 'cause they were laughing through half of them. I'm glad they liked it, though. I'm deranged enough to feel proud about the show, you see. This is not unique. I do that with most plays, films and music that I like.), I should probably get to bed. Unfortunately, I'm listening to some really great music and then there's an episode of Whoopi I'd like to see first, so the bed will stay cold for another hour or so.

Oh, and Dennis*, the next time we take the tube together, stop fiddling with your mobile if you want to know how inspiring you've been these last few months. *laughs* (* I'm not a believer in being on first name basis with anyone I don't know, it's just that in this setting (i.e. telling him off) it would seem ridiculous to use his full name. Nor am I a believer in disturbing anyone when they're clearly busy doing something else. I hate it when people do that to me. (Emergencies include Alan Rickman on a street in NYC, naturally.)) (* For anyone knowing me personally, no, I'm not talking about my (parents') dog, who just happens to be called Dennis.)

Current track: DJ Mendez - Fiesta (House Party)

Labels: Alan Rickman, dennis storhøi, literature, music, musicals, name-dropping, personal, theatre, TV, writing