Well that’s one way to look at it

November 19th, 2017, 9:14 AM by Goddess

I won’t lie — I never felt “safe.” Not even working 75 hours a week, juggling more projects than my five counterparts on the other side of the company who collectively did ONE of my jobs.

It was a shitty review (how do I get 2s out of 5s for dependability and output. HOW?) and the death of a friend (no doubt from overwork) that helped me scale back to 60 hours.

Still, I fretted.

Then the person who would have fired me left, and I got promoted. Go figure. Someone who judged me on reputation alone (obviously by everyone else’s view) would be the one to elevate me. Best decision they ever made, probably.

I still never felt safe, though.

And now that living in my car is all I want for Christmas, because that implies the car is still running, there’s a certain level of relief. They can’t hurt me any more than they already have.

I mean, yes, now the worries are much bigger. But it’s not like staying two extra hours these days will save the whole operation. Too late to make a difference. If it ever did.

And call me crazy, but I’ll find relief anywhere I can get it.

My glass is full … of shit

November 15th, 2017, 6:29 PM by Goddess

That time when you lost your job, your apartment, your mind AND your car.

And when your car died in the middle of 95 and you could literally SEE YOUR OFFICE as the cars whipped around your dead fucking fuel pump ass.

And when you called AAA and said yes this is an emergency and OMG I AM NOT IN A SAFE LOCATION and they still had you wait an hour.

And when you called Florida Highway Patrol to give your coordinates and say please please please send a squad car to hang out with me OMG GONNA DIE HOLY SHIT YOU KNOW HOW FLORIDIANS DRIVE and they say call us when there’s a real accident.

And when you CRAWL OUT OF YOUR SUNROOF and jump onto the truck bed so you don’t get kilt on the fucking highway.

And when YOU FEEL YOUR PERIOD START as you grab your coffee and laptop out of your passenger seat as you kneel on the not-so-strong hood of your car.

Meanwhile you’ve been coughing up a lung for a week and a half. And you busted both your big toes wearing new shoes to Disney two weeks ago and the nails look like janky eggplants.

And when you have to pay over a hundred bucks to get towed to your mechanic BY YOUR HOUSE 30 MILES SOUTH omg why did I leave the house whyyyyyy.

And when your mechanic’s discount still sets you back a grand.

AND YOU STILL DON’T HAVE A JOB OR A PLACE TO LIVE so you pay it because you’re about to be living in that fucking vehicle.

So you’ll have to forgive me that I’m a little focused on the negative right now when I know I should be grateful that I lived … that no one hurt poor Stewie … that I had a terrific AAA driver … that I have an awesome mechanic … and that I didn’t have to look at those sad sack motherfuckers inside that building, although I did end up fighting with the one idiot all goddamned day long because he has never been able to follow instructions and, with two weeks to go, doesn’t apparently plan to.

I tell everyone we can either tell a tale of fear or triumph. This is all setting up to be one of those stories that no one will believe I could (eventually) overcome.

Right now, unfortunately, the only one who is unsure I will overcome all this bullshit is me.

What the everloving fuck?

November 9th, 2017, 7:40 PM by Goddess

I worked 80-plus hours a week for five years.

Trump still has a job and I don’t.

Whose pussy do I have to grab to get a fair shake in this stupid world?

‘What are you supposed to do, anyway?’

November 8th, 2017, 3:30 PM by Goddess

Had a salad at the mall with one of my boys, as is our Wednesday tradition.

We figure it’s a good supervisory session. We sure talk about the thing our jobs revolve around an awful lot. And it’s nice to do so as we power-walk and wind up in Starbucks for our afternoon java.

Today he asked what my title is. I mean, he knows it’s “his boss.” “But what does that mean to them?” he wanted to know.

He’s not trying to be anything other than curious. Because my boss and my boss’ boss called a meeting with him this afternoon. Why am I not a part of it?

If it were anywhere else, I’d wonder and worry and lobby to be in with the in crowd. But here, if I’m not babysitting everything else, someone would start playing with matches and burn the place down.

When I got the title, it was basically, “Just keep doing everything you’ve been doing for the past six years.” You know, under a lesser title.

I mean it about the babysitting though. I told him a string of six stories from today alone — from having to tell someone that you cannot spell it “thrown” in print when it’s what a king sits on, and that you should know how many newsletters Guy XYZ writes, and that if I ask you to do something and you ignore me without giving me a reason why you don’t think it’s a good idea, you don’t get to be mad when I assume you just don’t read your emails in full — and he was like wow.

As in, wow — all those ideas in your head and brainpower and knowledge and HISTORY … sitting idle.

Yeah I’m not going to take over the world at this rate. But at least the poop and throw-up I clean up is mostly metaphorical. And it beats doing it all by myself. And when the time comes that that changes, I am pretty sure I have the power to make that happen.

Where the hell do I even begin

October 31st, 2017, 6:35 PM by Goddess

Every day, it’s the same.

Fix insane amounts of other people’s fuckups.

Get cryptic email from owner.

Spend an hour interpreting it.

Field at least 20 interruptions from people who know better about things they should know better about.

Give email to at least two other people to get their interpretation. They interpret it completely differently from each other AND from me.

Spend another hour implementing owner’s request as I understand it.

Return to fixing others’ fuckups on other unrelated projects.

Spend at least 15 minutes apologizing to the owner for the part that I misunderstood … the part someone else fucked up in helping me implement it … and getting four more instructions that I’m certain will get fucked up despite my best intentions. Like military time. How do I get all the complicated shit right and yet fucking schedule something at 1500 hours when I knew in my head, heart and soul that he wanted it at 1600?!?!