Spring Fever

This is not OK. I cannot work for these people. It is not OK for your long distance supervisor to put you on probation and then ask 'What are your feelings about this?' EXCUSE ME?! WHAT DO YOU THINK MY FEELINGS ARE??? You just told me my performance is unacceptable! I knew I couldn't say what I wanted to: "It's none of your damn business about my feelings'. So I tried to think of the answer she wanted to hear..... nothing came to mind. Then I repeated the question, "What are my feelings?" "Yes." I still couldn't figure it out, so I just said, "I feel bad." Please Lord, get me out of this company. Send me to a new boss who will never ask me my feelings, who knows it is inappropriate, and that's what we pay therapists for!

Had she seen me, she'd have seen the tears. There is nothing like failing at a job you are over-qualified for to make one feel bad. This job is too emotionally damaging. These people are worker-bees who thrive on being over-directed and who enjoy the cumbersome behemoth bureaucracy because it creates more work for them. Does it make them feel needed? All I know, they like complaining about the work-load and the minute you suggest ways to alleviate it they shut up and walk away. Martyr, much? The pointless work makes me want to impale myself in the trachea with my pen. Unlike everyone else here, I will not sell my soul to this company, I will not work extra hours for free, and I will not do what my superiors tell me to do if it's stupid. (This seems to piss them off.)

The irony of it all is this: On Monday night, I gave the final exam to my undergrads. At the end, one girl nervously handed me an envelope. She said, 'This is from the class.' It was a thank you card! Half the students signed it--with notes like 'this class was a joy', and 'you are the best prof I've ever had.' Come on! That almost made me start blubbering right there. And then, the next morning I went to work and found a meeting invite from my supervisor, subject: "work standards". SIGH. I got to hear about all the complaints-- how I can't meet my sales people's deadlines, and it takes me too long to make appointments...blah, blah, blah. Now I have 30 days to improve my timeliness and effective communication. Whatever. I just had 20 hardened NYC 18 year-olds thank me for teaching them a required and unpopular class...but it's all on me, not the sales people.

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And what of the Celibate's love life since last you heard? Ugh. Ugly. I re-fell in love only to shoot myself in the heart, again. Now he won't talk to me anymore. Again.

And what of my mental defect? I have a new diagnosis! Bipolar II. My doctor thinks this will solve my problems. She put me on new meds. I'm not hopeful, my poor little heart can't take disappointment anymore. Besides, I've heard this record before.

Stay tuned (I've been cycling weekly, so in a few days I might write something happier.)