So, this week at Corporate Happy Fun Job has been crazy making. At this point the negativity surrounding my job has gown, cancer-like, to the point where it is beginning to blot out the sun. There is nothing, nothing not eclipsed by the ticking clock that counts the minutes between now and when I have to go back to that place.
I am particularly susceptible to career-related disgust right now because they announced our raises this past week. The fact is this: I knew that I was going to be righteously pissed by the entire affair; that there was no way they were going to give me what it would take to make me happy. What blew me away is how VERY, VERY pissed off I was. As my boss sat there and blathered on and on and fucking ON about how generous CHFJ’s fucking package is, I just sat there and stared at the sheet in front of me. The one that, in black and white, laid out for me just how underpaid and overworked I am; just how worthless the hours I’ve wasted making everyone around me money while I struggle and get nowhere.
What I said was, “I see this, and I am disappointed.”
What I thought was, “Only a fucking retarded person would be satisfied with this, and I am not fucking retarded.”
At this point, I am permanently exhausted. I spend 40-50 hours a week biting my tongue; 40-50 hours a week avoiding the truth; 40-50 hours pretending that somehow I am not totally, terribly, pissing away my life in this ridiculous place with these ridiculous people.
And it’s not working any more. Do you have any idea how much self-discipline it requires to lie convincingly for 40-50 hours per week? Because I sure as shit didn’t. It’s excruciating.
And then, and then, AND THEN . . . The stupid bint asked me to coach (coach?!?) the fucker on our team who has the job I should have—who makes more money than I do—because he’s underperforming.
*sputter*
At that point, I think a part of my brain actually turned black and died. Collapsed on itself, like a wee dying galaxy. The part of me that is the real me, the part of me that I like and bring out off-leash to spend time with loved ones, wanted to jump up and overturn a chair. It wanted respond with a perfectly reasonable “Are you shitting me?” My god, the woman has no sense of irony and no concept of timing.
Instead, I sat there like a whipped fucking bitch and just took it. And today? Five days later? Recalling the conversation makes me want to cry. I’ve become complicit in my own fucking failure, my enthusiastic disappointment.
Working on not spending half my waking life with people I hate doing things I detest, and waiting for Spring.
Miscellany
- Kate
- Working to prevent the Idiot Train from derailing and killing everyone in Moron Village.
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1 comment:
Believe me, I have all the sympathy in the world for you. I feel like I have spent half my life and a million therapy dollars integrating the fractured bits of my soul into one authentic whole. Then I go and spend 40 hours a week splitting those apart again, pretending to feel and think things I don't think and feel, pretending things are OK when they're desperately not OK.
Having to spend your days at a horrible job like that is really like being in the household of an abusive parent. There's way too much smiling and nodding and pretending for it to be at all conducive to living an authentic life.
Much much sympathy, and advice to focus on your life outside as much as possible. We should hang out this week - you and U.P. should come over for dinner and some Wii and chi-cuddles or something. I even have some booze in stock!
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