Mar. 10th, 2017

spikethemuffin: (Gardening)
Yesterday, I got into a filthy bad mood the second I got into work. Normally, I love coming back from work after a weekend all refreshed. Gotta say, I slayed it. Someone ended up not reserving, and I realized that was the first call of the day I didn't reserve when I didn't make the sale. Anger is so good for my task performance if I let myself feel it, but so exhausting--- had the energy to bathe and floss after work and that's pretty much it, didn't even braid my hair for sleep. (Hair was to waist earlier today, cut the split ends off, about ten inches, still past my bra... if you've ever had longer hair, you know how tired you have to be to skip the pre-sleep rituals.)

Today, my Internet went out mid-call during some crazy storms (been meeting my neighbors a lot lately, Missouri's tornado season is like whoa and the high ground that served our apartment complex so well during the floods of 2016 is not great when the tornado warning sirens go off. Oh, and for the record, apparently I am exactly the sort of idiot who goes out looking for her pet during these things) . I tried connecting, managed briefly, then the phone just up and looked like it didn't have any power--- tried unplugging and replugging, cycling router, etc., nada, gave up, called in. About an hour before my shift ended, I unplugged/ replugged the power cord from the other end, and presto! Whoohoo. And if I weren't so... worn-through-the-brakepad-and-grinding-against-the-rotors, I'd have figured that out immediately. (Although I swore I'd tried it initially. My "chaos field" makes electronics go weird when I'm under stress sometimes.)

I was so close to attendance points falling off, and now, I'm officially one day away from termination. (I say officially--- I still have about three points of "false positives" from November and December that have yet to be removed. I would be just peachy without them.)

I think I'm sabotaging myself. I don't know what's wrong with me. There is nothing wrong with my job, it's a wonderful job, I'm important and good at it and can do it from home and it pays my bills--- right up until I'm fired from it. Why the hell can't I appreciate that? Yet... if this were a Disney movie, I'd be singing my "I want more" song. (If this were a Disney movie, as a forty-five-year-old queer, I'd be a tree or a raccoon or possibly Phil Collins, and NOT the main character, whose age and waist size in inches are both sixteen--- because you can't need to figure things out or be lonely or destined when you're old enough for your bones to have stopped growing. Fuck you, princess culture.)

I should figure out the way to work at my daughter's workplace, but it would be another call center job, and I just. Can't. Face. That.

Except... if I don't get myself some change right the fuck now, that's another option closed off to me.

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spikethemuffin

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