I hate my job more than a root-canal, pap-smear combo that lasts for a month without sleep or food breaks. Seriously. I hate it that much.
God, it feels good to blog that.
I've put off bitching about it for months, really. And I won't bitch about it again after this. No one reads this blog anyway, so I consider this entry as a semi-catharsis. After all, I thought I'd lovethe job. I built myself up to think that it would make me one of those adults who obtains uber-responsibility and gets to swing a cool title around at cocktail parties and tell other people what to do, all while securing a fat paycheck. I thought, "hey Daisywriter...why don't you stop being such a writer monkey and get that higher-profile management gig that will surely catapult you to professional utopia, a higher tax bracket, and shoe shopping without looking at price tags?" I figured it would finally put me into a job that was suitable for my new life in the cornfield...seemingly stable. Responsible. All that crap.
Long story short, the job isn't the picture that the recruiter painted (the horror!). I was tricked, which isn't surprising to me anymore. People lie, manipulate, and tell you what you want to hear to ultimately get what they want. It's only taken me about 36 years, several failed relationships, and a lot of legal debt to figure that one out.
In a nutshell, I'm working 12-hour days and weekends (without lunch) as head of the world's complaint department. I'm a consultant who was thrown in among the full-time wolves. The wolves are afraid that I'm taking their prey, and they're snarling and growling and hissing at me as a result. They want me to just go away. They want me dead and gone, in pieces, ripped from limb to limb - and they'd like to do it at their first chance. I represent all that is outsourced and evil in this consulting, "let's hire those people because they don't need benefits" culture. My once approachable, down-to-earth, happy-go-lucky, quietly confident demeanor has become either uber-bitch or Tina-Turner-post-Ike-encounter.
I used to have a life of the written word and a sense of self-management. I used to take pride in the fact that I could make an idiot CEO come across like friggin' Shakespeare on paper. Now, I'm middle management. God save my soul.
In the middle of my "did I forget to pee today" day full of bullshit TPS reports, I often wonder if I should pull an "Office Space" and bring a freshly-caught fish in to gut at my desk while others watch in both jealousy and horror because I simply don't give a rat's patootey? I figure if they fire me and escort me off the premises, it'll at least be an EXCUSE to have to go get a job at Hooters. Hooters would be less demeaning.
And so it goes.
On another sunny note, we had a flood here in Indy this past weekend. A real, state-of-emergency, Governor-declared natural disaster. Husband and I were on the road very early last Saturday morning, taking what was assumed to be a short road trip to Kentucky to pick up an amplifier for his Ham hobby. We got the amplifier, and when we drove north, we were diverted four times, putting us in the car for about 10 hours - double what we had intended. The deviation in our trip forced us to see the devastation many suffered in the southern parts of Indy. School buses were completely under water. Golf courses became lakes. Roads collapsed. Trees fell. It was quite humbling, as natural disasters tend to be. Did it make me change my mind about my job? Hell no.
But in the midst of my horrific vocation, I've met a new friend. In many of my jobs, I've met at least one amazing person that stays with me upon my departure. I believe these people are more than likely the reason I work where I end up working...I never take the job with me - but I always take the people. My new friend, C., is a great guy (who has supposed psychic powers, but that's a whole other blog in itself) who is sincere, loyal, and hysterically funny. He may very well be my fabulously gay brother from another mother. From the minute I met him, we clicked. He tells it to me like it is, and there's no substitute for a friend who never sugar coats. I appreciate brual honesty, as I believe it beats the "let me tell them what they want to hear" crap any day. In my case, C. sees me getting beat up and he just barks, "girl, you're the only one that can solve your problems...don't you dare feel sorry for yourself. You're only getting beat up because you're reacting to the beating."
He's right in a lot of ways. But I still hate my job.
Then he reminds me of how "adorable" my husband is, how I'm in a stable, loving relationship, I'm "gorgeous" to him (even though he often proclaims that my boobs are too small), and I have my health.
In the midst of husband and my 10-hour drive the other day, I remember a distinct moment when I thought, "you know...there's no other person in the world I'd rather be stuck in a car for 10 hours with than my husband." So, flood, famine, or armageddon, I've done something right so far, and it had absolutely nothing to do with my head.
I do believe my friend C. is profound when he speaks of God giving us only what we can handle, and when it rains, it floods. I think he's wise, even if in the same breath, he jokes with me about having his love child, and how it would be a boy with bedazzled diapers with a Wonder Woman symbol on the ass. Because, for the same reason I am with my husband, I became friends with C. and all of my other true friends as a result of me thinking with my heart. Not a sliver of those good choices included my head.
The next job? I'm hoping that one will be from the heart. After living through one, I've decided that I am not a fan of floods.