Yeah, so....
Since the higher ups don't seem to want to acknowledge that the work I do is worth a measley $2.67 more an hour, and since they don't know when they will be able to get around to reviewing the position and a possible change in status for it, and since they refuse, even now, to put me on the books officially for 40 hours a week but are "letting" me work the 40 hours anyway, out of the goodness of their black little bureaucratic hearts....
Yeah. I've decided to work out a really strict budget and, well, FUCK THEM. I'll work 30-ish hours a week and see how they like that, since I'm the only one in the whole department who is a) there on a daily basis (or was) and b) who knows what the hell is going on from minute to minute.
Honest to G-d, I came in this morning feeling fine. Good about myself, about life in general. I walked a mile before I even got to work and was singing along to ABBA when I got to the front doors. Within five minutes of entering those doors, however, I was struck by a migraine with vision changes (my first one of those ever) and now I'm pissed off and in pain.
The only reason I like to come in to work at all anymore is because of you-know-who. And guess who's on vacation this week? (Operation Friendship is going very well, by the way.)
Anyway, I can make money other ways. I need to get my writing off the ground; I have other options. But I don't need this kind of stress and annoyance.
Ugh.
Thanks for listening to me rant.
Twoodles!
DiNovia
Current Mood: 
cranky 
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