It is no secret I am a huge fan of Mondays, when they are compared to Tuesdays.
That said, I'll be out tomorrow...
Got repeated and not even originally misdirected blame in the form of flack from the boss for asking for my sister's bday off, but I don't care.
Boss started with "um, we are kinda behind..." and ended with "you were out last week (it was 2 weeks ago, on my death bed, calling in feverish every 2 hours, and she royally fucked my rotation and we still haven't recovered from her meddling), and taking time this week, you don't want corporate to ask why you are taking all this time off so close to your start date..."
To that, I literally bit my tongue (I think she saw me wince), and internally fume "bite my ass as I walk out the door, and you better hope, after talking to me like the company doesn't gift me nearly a full work day of paid time off every 2 weeks, that I come back on Wednesday, or at all."
Yes, I am achingly close to being over the edge... bitter, full of contempt, apathetic, not even self loathing as much as overtly realistic (which, for those of us with brain cells, translates to pessimistic), and the worst of it is I am feeding the negative - onion rings, ice cream, fish and chips at every chance, and my parents spent so much damn money on this smile and I haven't used it in weeks.
Mostly, I am too afraid to feel anything, even returning a smile at a kid passing my window, because it might lead to feeling the rage and hurt and anger and betrayal and and and and that is lurking under my every breath.
So yeah, to have my manager try to fix our department by sitting next to me for an hour today, to have me taking my breaks sitting in the hallway to avoid the aura of misconduct in my office, to hide in the bathroom and breath through the imminent tears, to have weekend after weekend be more stress than my overbearing and intensly draining day job, and then be told that I should reconsider taking time off that the company is paying me to have the opportunity for??? Lets just say I don't give a flying fuck's left nut if I look like a slacker to corporate for deciding to take my paid time off, and her implication that I am making an unwise choice (as she flaunts to the office that I am not the same old Sassy and wants me to explain what my matter is) isn't sitting well here at the end of the day.
Oh, in case you thought the fix would be as easy as a career jolt, Sexy called last night. And texted today. And he wasn't drunk this time. And it was nice to have someone ask what I thought about something without having to stand tall as I steady myself to bear the brunt of "yeah, but's" until the sun goes down.
Barfly was a total duche and I'm bored with him before I even had a chance to get his shirt off.
The thought of getting a passport and traveling to a small town in Wales is about all consuming at this point.
I slept on my new couch on Saturday night because I couldn't look at the bedspread stained with Shorty footprints so I didn't go in my room - and even when I made it in there last night I made Sister come watch TV with me.
The cat is cute, but its not the same.
And holding your 13 year old, always at your feet dog while the chick misses veins with the death juice isn't a memory you need flooding you when you try to get into your PJs.
Its quit'n time, and there is no way for me to know if the calls I've planned for Wednesday are going to be productive or a waste of time until I start calling down the list, so I'm going to see if I can avoid the beer long enough to change into gym clothes and get something positive running through my veins in a timely manner... even the gym has a negative connotation in the mood I'm in though, and no amount of distraction is taking away the intense omnipresense of "this is not working, you must change the core of your existence or be irreperably damaged".