Thursday, October 25, 2007

So Many Shortcomings, So Little Time

So, The Liquor Fairy is off to trap bats. Sounds like a plan.

I have figured out why I’m not writing more, either here or in other areas of my life. It is, in fact, because the human psyche is built to tolerate so much fucking failure. When it all comes down to it, there is only so much failure that one human mind can endure before it crumbles under the weight of it.

And right now? A quick pit sniff tells me that I absolutely wreak of failure.

It’s not that I don’t already have more than a glancing familiarity with Mediocrity and its close cousin, Gross Incompetence. I have fallen out of more trees than most people are ever lucky enough to try to climb. Lately, though, I taste a new flavor of fucked—one that I must say I don’t much like. Suddenly, instead of the regular 32 Flavors and Then Some of screw-up to which I have historically subscribed, suddenly it’s like a Mochachino Chip Implosion of FuckedUppedNess. With sprinkles.

So, yeah. My job sucks. Sucks. SUuuuuuuuuucccccckkkks.

Everyone’s job sucks, you say? Well yes. Indeed. Indubitably.

Yesterday I spent 45 crying over approximately $12. Twelve. American. Dollars. Broken, crushed, snotting, tear-stained sobs over $12 that was the difference between the deal closing and getting off of my desk forever and . . . not.

The story is too long, not to mention too stupid, to relate. The short version—for real this time—is that I find myself in a situation where I have about three times the amount of work that can be handled by anyone in my position. Our software is the worst piece of shit I’ve ever had the misfortune of touching. I soothe myself by imagining tromping on the balls of the purchasing asshole who picked this thing. For variety I vary the shoes I’m wearing in the fantasy.

Were that not enough, I find myself in the fucking untenable position of explaining many of the finer points (and basics, frankly) of our industry to my co-workers so that they can continue to make more than $10,000 a year more than I do. Every time I help them to re-invent the wheel, I make more work for myself. I hate *everybody*.

I start dreading Monday after brunch on Sunday. I would be dreading tomorrow right now, but I’m a bit tipsy so I don’t actually care. Every day is much like shoving a little hedgehog backwards up my ass, and then poking it in the nose so it gets all spiny. Except hedgehogs are kind of cute, and there is nothing at all cute about my day and the douchebags I am forced to spend it with.

I pray for Death, but Death doesn’t listen.

No. Seriously. I had my wee mini breakdown, followed by pizza and wine and romantic comedy on DVD. I also locked myself out of my house and had to cut open the kitchen screen and crawl through. (Plus last night I fucking punched myself in the eye because my pets are ginormous fatasses who need to NOT sleep on their mommy’s covers.)

I got up today. I went to work. I have decided that for awhile most questions are going to have to be addressed to my PEZ dispenser (“Ask the PEZ head!”). Tomorrow will be the same thing. Things will either get better or will get replaced..

In the meantime, though, I have to scrape up energy. To exercise. To write. To clean my house. Because right now? At the end of each day? All I want is to sit, and stare, and hide my face against The Boy’s neck and get ready to force myself to do it again.

You know what really sucks for me, though? I think there was a chance that I might have been okay at this job if I had only been given some portion of the tools necessary to do it. That’s saying a lot for me. Mostly, jobs are just something I do while I try to find another job. This one? I could have been good at it.

Saturday, October 6, 2007

September Sucked, Episode One

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Tuesday, October 2, 2007

Your Regularly Scheduled Ennui, Already In Progress

Kate's Plan For Career Advancement

1. Grab boss's penis

2. Place boss's penis in a standard table vice

3. Place hand on vice

4. Discuss rate of pay

Sounds like plan, non? I'll keep you posted.