Coming out swinging

I was just attacked by a ginormous fruit fly. It obviously flew all the way from Chernobyl just to attempt to flit into my eye. Annoying! And gross.

I've had about a dozen e-mails today telling me that I need to go in and approve employee credit card charges. Half of the charges I'm trying to approve are giving me unresolvable errors. I had a mini-ferfluffle with a manager about another department charging his account - and notifying ME, since I'm the account approver instead of the manager, who thinks it's "his" money. We're going to be addressing this again. Next time, I may not be as pleasant about it. All in all, I need to just put all of my anxiety behind me and talk to my boss. I just feel...uncomfortable around him, though. It's tough to broach the subject of what your job is (or is not), and the fact that you are a tier below people who are doing the exact same work (or sometimes less work, even) for considerably more money when you're not sure if the boss understands what your job even is (he's compared me to the lower office staff before, which burns me, since I oversee and manage millions of dollars in funds for the unit - essentially the core of my many, many responsibilites - I'm not just answering phones and ordering supplies for a department). It's driving my husband nuts that I'm so reticent to have this conversation, and he gets a little frustrated with me about it. It's hard to explain to him that when I talk about work I'm not asking for advice (I never preface anything with "What do you think I should do?"), and he's naturally a "fixer", so he has a hard time understanding why I can't just walk into the boss's office and rattle off everything I do that deserves a promotion and/or raise and why my work load is slowly sapping my will to live. I. Just. CAN'T.

Our neighbor came over yesterday because the mailcarrier delivered all of the mail on the block to the wrong addresses. Everyone got the mail for the house next door. While the neighbor was at my house dropping off my mail, she launched into a long story about the drama between her and her now ex-boyfriend. Then she asked us if we could drop her off at the bar up the street because she had some "business" she needed to "conduct" up there and didn't want anyone to see her car there (seriously - her exact words). Since we were on our way out to waste some time and get dinner, we obliged. She also asked if we could keep an eye on her house while she's out of town for anything "suspicious". I can barely stand the excitement of her life.

My son likes to reinact experiences he has. Lately he walks around reciting the morning announcements for school ("Good morning boys and girls, teachers and staff..."). Yesterday while we were in his still unfinished room measuring windows he started putting on a show for us about Sunday school at church. Every minute or so he would bow his head, squeeze his eyes shut and murmur "Let us pray" and "Cheesus Christ" (there is apparently an extreme amount of prayer at Grandmom and Grandpa's church). It was good for a little sacraligious giggle.