Caterwauling

Great Saturday. Fun morning hijinx, picked up the TV I bought for my birthday, and a fun night out.

Nice escape from my newfound chronic anxiety. 

I had a tiny tv so it’s good to have one we can see. But today I learned mom’s eyesight is nearly gone. She’s been “watching” the tiny TV without complaint. I love her so much and I’m so very sad that her life is the way it is. 

I’m tired of wasting time on horrible human beings who are shooting accusations like bullets at Yosemite Sam’s feet. Tired of jumping every 10 minutes. 

Tired-er still of Dippity Dumbfuck. I feel like all the frustration within me is just attracting more of it. 

I’m done. I’m so done. 

I’m so happy sitting in front of my less-little TV. (I got it on a huge sale and with a coupon. Best $200 I ever spent.) But can’t believe how much stress and sadness and fear and anxiety I’ve felt, and yet I still don’t feel like I deserve this reward. 

You aren’t allowed to disclose them.

You wonder about them with other people.

I mean everybody wonders what the goldfish makes.

And I don’t know much but I know enough that really kickass people aren’t making much more. And that bugs the fuck out of me.

I used to worry about what my peers made. Male and female. Because if you know what YOUR load and schedule looks like, and if their dance card actually allows them time to dance (i.e., vacation, days off, leaving before nightfall, not as many weekend hours), that ain’t right.

But then when you get to be in charge of people, and you lean on the bright ones heavily, you wonder about the potential unfairness of it all.

I have a friend. We were chatting yesterday. She said that the only way to know if there is equality is if people are talking about it.

That’s not a new revelation. I’m sure Sheryl Sandberg or someone equally influential said it recently too. I remember it; just not from where.

But what my friend — who’s all of 23 years old — said was interesting.

She said it was one thing when women weren’t the breadwinners. Now we’re all single and taking care of kids and parents and waiting for Prince Charming to propose. If he exists and isn’t a momma’s boy/narcissist/pedophile/rapist/serial murderer.

It’s Florida, man. LOOK IT UP. It’s scary out here.

So people should feel ashamed of themselves for not only paying idiots well, but for paying men better than women who are clearly outperforming them.

I’ve been told it’s sexist to say these things as a supervisor. And believe me, I’ve seen work ethics of all kinds. But I will say this about the minimum-wage set.

It was hard when I worked for minimum wage ($3.80 an hour was my starting point). I had three jobs. I was in school. I was a caffeinated, sleep-deprived mess.

But while I agree a living wage is necessary, I don’t think most people are worth that $15 an hour.

I don’t think some people in my own industry deserve $15 an hour.

That’s too damn much for what they produce.

Meanwhile I do see people hauling ass and being awesome and being grateful for whatever they get. They don’t rock the proverbial boat. They are lucky to be able to afford the payments on that little boat. Maybe even have enough left over to put gas in it or plug the holes in it.

Meanwhile your Chief Ice Cube makers are doing just fine. And putting a huge strain on the best of us without hazard pay or at least a cookie to thank us for not killing them.

I hate the world right now.

It’s the day my goldfish can swim all through their little plastic castle and I don’t have to hear their gills flapping and their glee at, “Oooh, castle!” every time they whoosh by.

Goldfish are shiny and nice to have around. But that’s their only purpose. Ultimately they have to be flushed away.

I think what separates me from the rest of the fish school is this. While we all make mistakes, at least I keep life interesting by making new ones.

It’s the same ones — that get worse every time — that make me want to rip off their gills and stuff them up their little fishy butts.

Every time I go to post a cryptic thought about Dippity Dumbfuck, my old pastor has to go and like something nice on my Facebook wall. 

Nothing like hearing about the layoffs of competent people at another company to look at the Chief Ice Cube Filler types and wonder why the world is the way it is.

Do you ever wake up and think about someone and wonder just what stupid thing they are going to do today to astound you at how absolutely stupid a human being can actually be?

Everyone has a talent. For most, it’s filling ice cube trays.

First, best birthday cake ever. Big props to my awesome boss for going to 22 bakeries till he not only got me a white cake …. But an amazing white cake. Omg so good. 
  
It was a pleasant distraction from being continually amazed at how dumb and combative someone can be. 

Also it was nice to be all sweetened up before learning I’m now entangled in a legal matter to somehow testify in favor of laughable, moronic, idiotic and comical bulkshit. 

We’ve wasted our top minds in the company for a month on this. Not like I could leave the other duties in anyone’s hands so I’ve had both roles, of problem-solver and apparently problem-creator since I can’t do it all and I can’t do it all right. 

My top alibi is burned out over getting blamed for some things that went wrong. I’m sick that my reactions, while in the best interest of the customers, may harm the business. My best sidekick is going to rip the eyelashes out of the world’s least useful because they had one set of easy tasks to do while we did the real stuff and they fucked it all up. 

If not for cake, this day would be better on fire. But cake is awesome. And somehow it is enough to come back and try again tomorrow. 

I’m just not sure what’s going to save the day after the cake is gone. 

New rule.

Either learn something if it kills you.

Or else I get to kill you.

In case you haven’t noticed my recent “I’m going to be positive if it kills me” theme, here’s another.

I used to have this pre-market project. I’ve always had pre-market projects, no matter where I’ve gone. You generally make the junior person on the team do them. I mean, that’s how I got my first one.

But alas, when you want it right AND you want it Wednesday (and Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday), you just add it to your list.

Besides, when it comes to who you can count on, ding! ding! ding! I’m your girl.

Anyway that project went away (and a temporary Sunday one popped up in its place. Which, I pick weekdays any day) and I’ve still been on the early shift. Just because.

But with the neighbors going nuts all night, and then the one night of them being quiet I was awake in FEAR of when they would start, I’ve been coming in about 20 minutes later than usual.

And it’s been glorious.

Glorious, I tell you.

So, there. Something else positive from me.

Any more miracles and all I’ll have to do is die to achieve my sainthood.

I have cousins coming to visit that I haven’t seen in 20 years. On a Thursday. In Fort Myers. 

The joke I have with HR is that we have to give everyone the day off so I can enjoy my day off without sheer terror at what will happen. 

In other words, guess who won’t be able to see her cousins.