“Work is the curse of the drinking classes.”
– Oscar Wilde.

It's definitely a rage stroke.

I haven’t complained about work in a while, and there is a very simple reason for that.  I had a rage stroke.  Seriously.  I got so angry that the rage literally had nowhere to go so it just retreated to a corner of my brain and fizzled.  Between what I consider to be bad management with our pet project (which is still giving us a ridiculous amount of grief), and ego running our office in terms of funding, personnel relations, and department communication and day-to-day running, I was just FED UP.

Then, suddenly and blissfully, I just didn’t care anymore.  Of course I’m not so foolish as to think the apathy is permanent.  Just a few days later our copy machine threw up its metaphoric hands and said, “To hell with it,” Hennessy and I got so stressed that she had a minor meltdown and I spent a cathartic ten minutes kicking a brick wall before I went home, and self-entitled people began pouring out the woodwork (think they’ve been hibernating?).  

To top it off, Dilbert for the past couple of days has been frighteningly like our department.  Either Scott Adams secretly works here, or my worst fears have been confirmed and every job in the world is exactly the same. 

And still they don't get it...
And still they don't get it...
I promise this isn't an exaggeration. Really.

7 thoughts on “Horror!”

  1. It’s the latter; every job in the world really is the same! Except of course, motherhood, which has been a pretty good gig for the past (almost) 24 years.


  2. Now that you know the secret, watch out. The portal will open and things will mysteriously start disappearing.

      1. Cheer up. You could end up in a fabulous alternative universe and/or timeline where you are an Empress and worshiped.

        Or you could be about to be sacrificed.

        Oh wait a minute that’s my writing. Sorry. I’m trying to find a portal of my own.

        Carry on.

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