Month: May 2012

Explicit Vagueness

Now, I have only been a public sector worker for a mere 10/11 months. However, I have seen some truly bizarre ongoings in my short time.

But today, my manager has truly out done themselves.

I am blunt.

I do not sugar coat, and I dislike detest people who beat around the bush.

I can’t be dealing with vague ramblings (as we know), mutterings, utterings, waffle, drivel, small talk, or any other nonsense that comes out of peoples mouth. If you have something to say, say it.

Now I have had some seriously vague rambly type instructions from all the managers I’ve had so far, but today has beaten them all.

I was asked to write an article for some publication or other. Given a set of bullet points of what to include.

Simple, yes?


Why is it public sector managers insist on correcting everything you do?

It is beyond me, to understand how its efficient for anyone to do a piece of work, that is perfectly adequate, and yet their manager insists on correcting it to within an inch of its life.

If your so certain about what you want in the first place, SURELY its quicker, easier and more efficient for you (dear manager) to just do it yourself?

Its not like that word you inserted, or the comma you added really made the article that much better did it?!

I digress.

No, No, I will continue with this actually.

Seriously though, how disempowering, and demotivating does a manager need to be. You would think that following a set of bullet points to write a page long article was simple enough. I have a First Class degree for godsake. I know damn well that what I wrote was fine. If not brilliant! (probably not brilliant)

When it came back it was utterly massacred. Ruined, mutated into some vague waffling nothingness.


In fear of having my work brutalised again, I asked if a paragraph I’d re-written was sounding more like he wanted it.

Obviously the answer was no.

“Ok.” I said. “What would you like me to add…. or remove”

“Well..” My manager starts.

“Perhaps you could….” *Insert excessively long pause, whilst I try to control my eye from twitching with irritation at said pause*

“umm, well we need to be a bit more explicit” My manager states

“RIght. Sooo I should add an example with some statistics then, yeah?” I asked.

“Well no, don’t actually put statistics in. We need to be a bit more vague than that.”  My manager answered.

You can imagine the look on my face at this point. My response was:

“So, let me see if I have this straight; you want me to be a bit more explicit, whilst being quite vague?”

Need I say more.

A parody on the lesbian love cycle… you won’t like it, but it’s probably true!

I’ve been dumped.

My hearts breaking because lets face it, this time she was THE love of my life. I loved all the tiny things she did for me, like holding my leg whilst I drove, the way she used to kiss my shoulder when she came in from work… *sob* *sob*

It was a messy break up, over some weeks, and I begged her back, but its definitely over this time.

I cried hysterically for a week. Huddled desperately under my covers where I can still smell her perfume (because obviously I haven’t changed the covers since she moved out last weekend).

My mates have called… repeatedly because ‘she’ ended your relationship on Facebook. Seriously should have hidden my relationship status.

I refused to get out of bed for two days, cause my eyes were as puffy as a merengue.

I am ashamed to say it but I called in sick to work.

Obviously I felt sick so didn’t eat for a week, and this is probably the only good thing to happen in the last month.

I lost the stone of happy fat I gained from all those ‘oh lets not go out, but stay in and have a take-away’ nights.

*Note to self, don’t get fat in next relationship*

Finally I zombied my way through the rest of the week. Got to Friday, depressed and hungry.

Ready to fall asleep in front of the sofa with large pot of Ben and Jerry’s to console myself with, when the doorbell rings.

Now clearly the last thing I want to do is go out on the lash. I do not need a rebound women and I certainly could do without the hangover.

It’s three of my best mates. They rush around me, forcing wine down my neck, mascara and eyeliner on my face, and routing through my rather over full washing bag for the least smelly tank top and jeans.

Haulling me out the door (now with several wines down my neck) I am surprised to find I am actually feeling slightly better. I haven’t seen them for ages either.

We reach the inevitable lesbian bar, because its not like we ever go anywhere else! and its the same old lesbians out. I panic thinking that ‘she’ might be out.

She’s not. My friends checked.

Moving to where they have all perched themselves I see this SERIOUSLY hot girl in my group of friends. ER.. who is she and why have I not met her before?!

a) Obviously because you haven’t been out in months Sacha! –

b) I look rough, besides my left eye is still puffy and it’s making me look like I am wincing at something

c) I don’t want a one night stand or a rebound.

Before I know it (because I don’t know how to flirt) I have brought her a drink and we are talking like old friends that have known each other for years.

Several ‘standard’ things happen next:

1. We exchange numbers

2. We have a kiss

3. We arrange to see each other the next day. *why do lesbians always do this?* I Must learn to play hard to get!

4. Inevitably we see each other everyday for the next week.

5. We spend the next weekend (the WHOLE weekend) having sex… day and night.

6. Repeat steps 3 – 6 for a couple of months

I have forgotten all about my ex, theres only remnants of her left in old photos on Facebook. I haven’t thought about her for weeks and the odd abusive text I received I’ve just deleted anyway incase the new gf sees it.

Three Months…

My mates keep mocking me claiming I’ve *uhaulled* But I only have some vague memory of what u-haulling means (I think it was in the L word?!)… something about moving in together too quickly. We totally haven’t though.

Ok, her tooth brushes at mine, and all her washings in my laundry bag, but that doesn’t mean anything.

No, I can’t remember the last time I spent a night away from her.

We aren’t living together.

Six Months….

She’s amazing, all those little things she does for me, the way she curls my hair when we watch telly…on those nights we would rather stay in, and get a take out.

How cute she looks in my hoodies she keeps borrowing… permanently.

In fact, I am starting to get confused as to who’s jumpers who’s now.

I am so happy, I really can’t remember life before her.

I am, IN LOVE. This time she REALLY is the love of my life. I know it. We are going to be together forever. We even joke about what ring I’d buy her every time we walk passed the jewellers in town.

We always go out matching. Its so cute.


I know what your thinking, I can hear you saying it.

We haven’t merged.

Honestly. We’re just matching.

Our hair cuts don’t look that similar. Do they?

Yeah ok, we went to the same hairdressers, but hers was so much better than mine anyway.

Look, just because we were both wearing converse trainers this week…  alright and last time we went out… Hers were well different, they had like… different laces and stuff… plus they were blue and mine were black.

One Year…

Ok so, we aren’t having sex that often. When was the last time she came home and ravished me anyway? I swear there use to be more passion.

I’ll admit, I do keep snapping at her, but she keeps leaving her shoes everywhere, or leaving food on her plate instead of scrapping it in the bin; That’s the only reason I get annoyed.

I am starting to lose contact with my friends. I can’t remember the last time I went out on a night out without her. To be honest we don’t really going out that often any more either.

18 Months…

We bicker all the time.

We’re suffering from lesbian bed death. Our sex life is DEAD.

No more going out. Nothing.

Other than nights in, with Binx… the cat we brought together a couple of months ago, when we finally admitted we had been living together forever. Deep down I think we thought it would save our relationship.

It hasn’t.

Then out of the blue. I come home and her bags are packed.

She’s leaving me. I beg, BEG, her to stay, I can’t remember life without her. She’s amazing, we can sort our relationship out, I can communicate how I am feeling, I will try I swear it. I’ll stop snapping.

We try again. For a while. It doesn’t work, and we sink back into our same old rut.

We break up.

A week later we decide to try again.

This went on for a while.

Eventually it ended. SHE ended it.

Breaking my heart… again. (When will I learn?)

I’ve called in sick.

I’ve been hibernating under my covers with puffy eyes and Binx for three days… waiting for Friday night to come and my friends to rescue me….

I am Sacha Black… and these are my memoirs!

Who is Sacha Black anyway??

I am your average Jane… Except that I am far more angry, (usually infuriated) overly impatient, totally indignant… Ohh and a lesbian!

Expect hypocritical wafflings, spontaneous rants, lengthy soap box sessions, some double standards, and hopefully a good laugh at my harassed life!

I am so liberal that I swing to the left, and sometimes right back round to the right. Don’t expect me to declare a an affiliation. I won’t. Today I might think one thing. Tomorrow I’ll change my mind!

Stubborn right down to the blackest depths of my heart. I’ll play devils advocate and probably fight to the death over it…!

Tortured public sector bureaucrat.

Should have followed the dream. Didn’t.

Now I’ve forgotten what it was!