Have I mentioned before how much I hate the month of May? Nothing about this May has changed the status quo.
Yesterday, just about the time I had let my guard down and decided that the May work crunch was indeed over for me, word came that one of the files I processed last week had a problem and I needed to redo it. Normally that would not have upset me too much, but as I dug into the problem I realized that a unique set of circumstances was going to make this a tough issue to resolve. Mind you, my brain had already shut down for May and was intending to coast this week. It did not appreciate hearing an alarm going off and necessitating a return to the front lines.
Still, there was nothing for it but to crank the gears and levers back into motion and I spent the better part of yesterday wrestling with the little programming snare that had landed in my lap. About 5:30 yesterday afternoon I finally had the data whipped back under control and returned to the notice assembly line.
Today was rather uneventful and I was given the good news that the last file was processed and outta here, so I geared down again in relief and have spent the day taking care of routine maintenance issues that get put aside while May is going on.
But wait - the problem file was again a problem at 2:30. WHAT?! I checked everything and all the data was set the way it was supposed to be and my calculations agreed with those of the client, so how could we still have a problem? We had a nervous few minutes until it was determined that our printer had mistakenly reprocessed the old file instead of the new file.
Every May I start out the month looking pretty hale and hearty and by May 31st I look like a trampled on little old lady. One more day and this year's nightmare should definitely be behind me.
On the lighter side, I spent some time this past weekend indulging my whimsy, which I sometimes do after stressful periods.
My mother took one look and said "Oh, my word!". I had several folks comment on this aberrant behavior come Tuesday morning, but they know me well enough to expect this kind of thing every so often. One lady and I laughed over a memory of a former co-worker who had shaken her head in disbelief when her daughter had painted her nails a bluish tint, remarking that "it just doesn't look natural!". When it was pointed out that her own red-laquered nails were no more natural than her daughter's blue ones, she had to reluctantly agree.
Now I just need to find some matching lipstick.