Crapshacks: The Blarg Bites Back

[lapacifidora]

If you don't like swearing, do not follow the fake-cut. (I simply have no other place to complain.)

 

Fuckity fuck fuck. FUCK.

I HATE this job. It is the worst job in the world. No, scratch that: If all my coworkers were uber-conservatives, then it'd be the worst job in the world.

I hate this because I'm miserable, but I'm not desperately unhappy. I know I'm not desperately unhappy because people who are desperately unhappy usually don't realize that they are desperately unhappy. They simply know that something is wrong, and they can't find a way out.

I know I have a way out. Mostly. If I can stick it out for a few more days next week, I have the possibility of doing writing & communications stuff for a local chef who runs a cooking school. And not to sound like a complete girl, but I actually know, understand and like cooking. I may not be a trained chef, but I know my way around a kitchen. And I have much more adventurous tastes than I used to.

But, y'know, it's not like I hate technology. I want to know how things works: I've always wanted that. If I'm honest, though, I'm content to be a technological dilletante. I don't need to know the nuts & bolts of cloud computing. I don't need to understand the importance of how one program integrates with another. I don't need to know the difference between a web content management system and...something else.

I'm happy not knowing that stuff. In fact, I think I work better not knowing that stuff because not knowing that stuff frees up the space in my brain where I can explain how property taxes are assessed, how to track down information about people using public records and how to work a room of people who are politically your opposite. Those are important things to know.

(I actually kind of want to track down Mark Zuckerberg's voting record, which should also have his home address, and figure out how to post it as anonymously as possible on the web. See how the jackass likes having his privacy stripped away. But I digress.)

I don't love marketing. I don't love writing about a project I barely understand. I certainly don't love making shit up.

Also? I think the executive director hates me. If her door is open, and I go to see her, she gives me as little time as possible. And if I use the intra-company instant messaging system to try to get her attention, she ignores me.

Mind you, The Douchebag has become slightly less douchey, but the sales manager has stepped in to fill that role. (I call him Douchebag Jr.)

I kind of don't want to go in Monday morning - actually, I really, really don't want to go in Monday morning, especially considering I haven't been paid yet - but I feel I ought to, at least until I find out if I have any shot of getting this cooking school job. Also, one of the other new hires had to leave early yesterday because her grandmother was taken to the hospital. I don't know what happened, but I think I should so I can find out - and maybe take her out for a cup of coffee. (A part of me thinks this is morbid, but having been through about five deaths in the last 12 years, I understand the value of someone who'll buy you a cookie and let you talk.)

So, short answer: My life fucking sucks right now. I want to break shit when I get home. I'm being rude to my parents, with not provocation. And I hate being this person. I've been her before. I worked hard to stop being that person. It took me the better part of 10 years. I don't want to go back there.

In all honesty, I said before that I couldn't work at a job like the one I'm in now without looking at myself with self loathing. I'd like to correct that statement: I can't work at a job that turns me back into the petty, manipulative, lying bitch I used to be. It sounds dramatic when I write it out like that, but it's true. I did things, used people, lied to them, all because I liked feeling that I could get away with it. I liked the power that came with being that person.

But I recognize now that the girl I was when I was like that was desperately unhappy. I was paranoid about losing that feeling of power. Being paranoid like that made me more willing to do more and more unethical things in an effort to keep that power. And, rather than dealing with the fact that people didn't like me, for whatever reason, I clung to that feeling of power.

Power doesn't buy you a cookie and let you talk. Power doesn't help you finish putting together a report. And Power doesn't pick you up when your car's been towed, drive you to the bank to take out money and then drive you to the impound lot and wait while you pay the fee and make sure you actually get your car back.

OK. The rant has ended. The job still sucks, but I just need to hold out for another few days. I can do that, I guess.