Great Weekend, Suckass Week
So last weekend was Fencon, which is a lovely con in North Dallas that moved to an absolutely gorgeous hotel this year, making everything nigh on perfect. I had a bunch of fun with my panels -- my one regret was that the Yard Dog Road Show ran over and I wasn't able to do my Merlene Show bit with Beer Can Crochet, but hey, there's always ConDFW next year.
Unfortunately, I wasn't feeling at my best for a large chunk of the con, to the point where I quietly slipped away from a group dinner because I realized I was about to start snapping at a lot of perfectly innocent people, and it was best if I removed myself from civilized company. Part of this was due to the hellacious amount of ragweed pollen we've had in the area recently, but I'm utterly sure that a largish chunk is also due to work stress playing havoc with my metabolism, immune system and state of mind.
And then today, I had a revelation of WHY I've been so stressed. You have to understand, I am a Go-To Woman when it comes to work -- put something on my desk, and I will do my damndest to get it done. HowEVER, this current situation is putting stuff on my desk that 1) I don't know how to do, 2) have no control over, and 3) really should be done by a developer or SME. I'm a technical writer -- I can create training documentation, put pretty pictures together and make sure that everything is understandable by a student. When you tell me that there's something wrong with the database that powers a motel front desk system with the unspoken assumption that I'm supposed to fix it, however, that's a whole 'nother ball of wax, and I don't particularly care that the previous tech writer was the one who put the databases together. I ain't a DBA or a developer, and frankly even if I was I don't have the motel experience to understand what the damn database is supposed to be doing in the first place (and I would also be charging a hell of a lot more than I currently am). But it finally dawned on me that this is what the client wants me to do, which means that my supervisor and I will be having a small come-to-Jesus chat tomorrow about what I did and did not sign on to do. And if they say, "Well, we want you to do this anyway," I'm going to say, "Nope, ain't in my job description."
And to be honest, I would be delighted beyond measure if they showed me the door.
Unfortunately, I wasn't feeling at my best for a large chunk of the con, to the point where I quietly slipped away from a group dinner because I realized I was about to start snapping at a lot of perfectly innocent people, and it was best if I removed myself from civilized company. Part of this was due to the hellacious amount of ragweed pollen we've had in the area recently, but I'm utterly sure that a largish chunk is also due to work stress playing havoc with my metabolism, immune system and state of mind.
And then today, I had a revelation of WHY I've been so stressed. You have to understand, I am a Go-To Woman when it comes to work -- put something on my desk, and I will do my damndest to get it done. HowEVER, this current situation is putting stuff on my desk that 1) I don't know how to do, 2) have no control over, and 3) really should be done by a developer or SME. I'm a technical writer -- I can create training documentation, put pretty pictures together and make sure that everything is understandable by a student. When you tell me that there's something wrong with the database that powers a motel front desk system with the unspoken assumption that I'm supposed to fix it, however, that's a whole 'nother ball of wax, and I don't particularly care that the previous tech writer was the one who put the databases together. I ain't a DBA or a developer, and frankly even if I was I don't have the motel experience to understand what the damn database is supposed to be doing in the first place (and I would also be charging a hell of a lot more than I currently am). But it finally dawned on me that this is what the client wants me to do, which means that my supervisor and I will be having a small come-to-Jesus chat tomorrow about what I did and did not sign on to do. And if they say, "Well, we want you to do this anyway," I'm going to say, "Nope, ain't in my job description."
And to be honest, I would be delighted beyond measure if they showed me the door.