I blogged heartily this morning, but crashed with a Type 2 error just as I hit “post & publish.” Blah.

But I’m a lot calmer than I was at 7 a.m. I was slightly furious yesterday, due to our Happy Homewood Hell (but it WAS my last Leadership Retreat! Woo Hoo!!!). HRP managed to be wonderfully nice to everyone except, oh, yours truly (not a surprise, by any standards … the bitch definitely seized her final opportunity to slam me publicly). We will put aside the fact that, due to my efforts, $90K rolled in last week. We will even overlook the fact that, during a tantalizing lunch of Soul Food (my last meal from Soul Food Connection! Yeah!), we were officially notified that we are receiving $25K from the County for our YW program (the brilliant proposal that I whipped together in two … count them, TWO … days) in March. No, my name never came up, nor the fact that I have been of some use to the agency, Oh, no. What did happen was that HRP ranted that I didn’t bother showing up for the first six months of employment; that if I’d cranked out the work that I’ve done in the final six months of my employment, she would have been impressed. She told me that she wishes me all the luck in the world with my new venture, but that she certainly hopes that I show up a lot sooner than I bothered to do at Two Strikes.

I can’t believe she was able to look me in the eyes as she said that. And I can’t believe that I didn’t lunge for the jugular. My mom raised me with much more class and poise than that wench will ever possess, which is why I didn’t even attempt to argue with my superior in public. However, Mom said that she would have been even more proud of me if I’d just beaten the shit out of the cunt, right in front of everyone. 🙂 Go, Mom!!!

Poor 420 Boy has had to hear me in hysterics for the second time. I talked to him after the retreat, and I was livid and torn and downtrodden. And poor Charolette stood by, patiently listening and telling me how much worse off the place will be, when I am gone. I couldn’t help going loony tunes … My 50-plus hours per week (sometimes, many, many more hours than that) are only now starting to pay off. HRP gives me this staff of Incoherent Twit, a post-retirement lady who essentially shows up once in awhile to collect a paycheck, Large Smelly Woman as my secretary, and for a brief while, Lab Rat. The deck was definitely stacked against me, from the beginning. Furthermore, I pulled the setup of this department out of my ass … there WAS a development department, in a crude incarnation, months before I arrived, but I came in and kicked out all the old crap and started my own department from scratch. It took time to lay the foundation, time to get Incoherent Twit to at least respect me as her supervisor, and time to write/send out proposals. It is only now that the money is starting to roll in … it is only now that we at least have research and “stock proposals” that we can modify as new funding opportunities arise … it is only now that I just do the work that I feel needs to be done instead of trying to figure out what the fuck that bitch wants. And it is only in the past month that I have been truly happy.

Saw friends last night. Saying goodbye to Dawn in particular was the hardest thing I have had to do in a long, long time. Cried for 45 minutes after we parted ways, although we only agreed that we were saying, “See you later” rather than goodbye. I guess it finally hit me that I am about to move away from the people and the city I love. Dawn’s been a treasure, and she will always be.

She was concerned about losing touch, but then clarity struck: I lost touch with so many friends and loved ones already because of Two Strikes. This place has made me stop caring about the very things that made me who I am. When was the last time I wrote a poem, read a book, returned an email, cleaned my apartment? A year ago, on most counts. I’ve left the workplace so sad and depressed, and I’ve always been too tired to do anything but order a pizza and veg on the couch till I crashed. Hell, I’ve been too tired to even pack, and my big move is on Monday!!!

So, to hell with feeling bad all the time. Three more days at Two Strikes! In fact, 21 hours to go. And counting. And hoping to just make it through with no more run-ins from HRP, because the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back was placed upon it at the Leadership fiasco. But this camel has just enough energy to pick herself up one more time and kick somebody in the ass, if occasion should arise. Remember, I do not let opportunities pass me by … give me 10 minutes with HRP, and I would open up a big ole’ can of whoop-ass! (oh, I’ve always wanted to use that phrase! LOL … I’ve spent too long at Two Strikes! hah!)

Charolette, hang in there … you’ve got friends who care about you, even when you can’t come out and play! We love you!

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