At least I have a pb&j sandwich
Oct. 9th, 2008 05:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
opera142Urf. Work.
Work's been super frustrating lately, and ignoring it (omg wrestling, Matt's in nice pants, everything is fine guys) isn't making it better. I don't know what my emo-problem is. I had to do a self-assessment today, and I just about freaked myself into a padded room. Everything I said fell into two categories a)I suck--have you noticed?, or b)oh the hard, thankless never-ending work that I perform, much like a miracle worker. Mother Theresa of Finance, really. Ever working my fingers to the bone, toiling like the little matchstick girl in a snowstorm of paperwork. Will the blizzard ever stop? Will I ever find my shoe? Ohmigod she's dead while everyone else eats Christmas pudding.
And, lamely, while writing the damn assessment, everything that's been frustrating me happened. Repeatedly. I got 6 phones calls, I got three "I need.." from co -workers, I got hauled into various offices to proof-read stuff. Leave me alone, pls. Just leave me alone.
I've got such a weird complex about work. On one hand, I feel overwhelmed. OTOH, don't touch my stuff. You'll do it wrong and I don't want to seem incapable. Also, the stuff I feel overwhelmed by is the bullshit stuff. Phone calls, co-workers, slow printers. You can't complain about stuff like that. You need to save your complaints for the big stuff. I feel fizzy, like lukewarm Coke.
I am fantisizing about running away and waitressing in a truckstop. Maybe living in a trailer with rickety furniture. I would wear scarves and cheap sunglasses and too many fake-silver rings. I would either write the great American novel or die from a tragic combination of gin, fire and a backdoor blocked by the broken washing machine.
Work's been super frustrating lately, and ignoring it (omg wrestling, Matt's in nice pants, everything is fine guys) isn't making it better. I don't know what my emo-problem is. I had to do a self-assessment today, and I just about freaked myself into a padded room. Everything I said fell into two categories a)I suck--have you noticed?, or b)oh the hard, thankless never-ending work that I perform, much like a miracle worker. Mother Theresa of Finance, really. Ever working my fingers to the bone, toiling like the little matchstick girl in a snowstorm of paperwork. Will the blizzard ever stop? Will I ever find my shoe? Ohmigod she's dead while everyone else eats Christmas pudding.
And, lamely, while writing the damn assessment, everything that's been frustrating me happened. Repeatedly. I got 6 phones calls, I got three "I need.." from co -workers, I got hauled into various offices to proof-read stuff. Leave me alone, pls. Just leave me alone.
I've got such a weird complex about work. On one hand, I feel overwhelmed. OTOH, don't touch my stuff. You'll do it wrong and I don't want to seem incapable. Also, the stuff I feel overwhelmed by is the bullshit stuff. Phone calls, co-workers, slow printers. You can't complain about stuff like that. You need to save your complaints for the big stuff. I feel fizzy, like lukewarm Coke.
I am fantisizing about running away and waitressing in a truckstop. Maybe living in a trailer with rickety furniture. I would wear scarves and cheap sunglasses and too many fake-silver rings. I would either write the great American novel or die from a tragic combination of gin, fire and a backdoor blocked by the broken washing machine.
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no subject
Date: 2008-10-10 04:52 pm (UTC)Post-book-publishing tragedy always gets teh_sales.
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Date: 2008-10-15 01:38 pm (UTC)