The twelfth day of Christmas was January 6th and it so happens it was one of the worst days I've had in the thirty-plus years of my day job working career. Career? Did I say that? I meant job. It's just a job, a job I want to do well for forty hours a week. The end. I don't want to advance my status. I don't want to climb the government ladder. I just want to do my job with no obstacles for the next five years or so in order to retire early and finally live life with abandon.
Unfortunately some of my coworkers didn't understand the 6th was still part of the Christmas season and decided to put aside their holiday cheer. One created an obstacle to my doing my job, another backed her up. Did I say I just want to do my job without obstacles? I meant it. Don't get in my way or there's going to be trouble. And there was.
I have no regrets about my accusations. I have no regrets about expressing my frustration with the human-unfriendly human service agency for which I work. After all, what is life if we live it with regrets? Without getting into too much detail I'll once again just say it was about the worst day I could have imagined having in what should be a mundane day at the job.
It didn't end there. After I composed myself and stopped trembling out of anger I was afforded a trip to the dentist for a cleaning. Except I got more than a cleaning. I got news of all sorts of major work that needs to be done. I'm not talking fillings. I'm talking multiple crowns and a nice little root canal. I suppose it's my payback for losing my verbal composure at the day job.
Well I just had the worst day ever, and on the Twelfth Day of Christmas. I got home, on the verge of tears, and Husby came to my rescue as he usually does. He said to me, "you really need a cup of cocoa. It will make you feel much better."
It did.
1 comment:
If it helps any, it's now 2011 so you've really only got 4 more years, 11 months and some odd days until you're free!
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