the whimper of defeat is resounding
I comply to keep our relationship as blurred as this photo.
I don't know why I do this to myself. I was telling Hammerstix that the entire situation is sad and degrading, but I legitimately don't have the energy to seek out anything better. That's true. I guess there's nothing more to say about it. I'm just going to hang tight until it fades out. Then I'll cry a little bit, and hopefully move on stronger and more confident in my own self-worth, having learned a valuable lesson about accepting mediocrity.
Much like living in the belly of the sarlacc, being slowly digested over a period of a thousand years, work has provided me with a new definition of pain and suffering. I was supposed to be laid off again. The Extended Stay department was getting shut down, and I, as the only employee, should have found myself the recipient of a beefy severance package, and with a spot reserved in the joke that is the unemployment line. Instead, however, Sasha fought to retain my job for me, because she cares about me as a friend and also an asset to the company. What happened was my job duties were redefined to the rank of administrative assistant, and my pay scale was restructured to reflect that as well. I didn't want this job, and I'm not exactly qualified, mentally speaking, to maintain it. However, Human Resources explained to me that if I did not accept these new duties, it would be considered insubordination, and they would accept my willing resignation, and deny any unemployment insurance claims they received. I am stuck between a rock and a hard place. I accepted my new responsibilities, and I hate every second of it. I'm not even any good at it. For the first four hours of my shift, I am constantly in a clusterfuck tornado of sales reps, shoving their fists so far up my ass, I can taste it in the back of my throat. That is followed by two hours of paperwork, where I find myself completely unable to process even simple numbers, and then two hours after that, daily reports are run that force me to fix the problems I created by my inability to perform simple arithmetic earlier in the day. Every day, I am miserable, but too beaten down by life to pursue anything better. I am what's wrong with America. I am what's wrong with my life. I am the cause of all my problems, and somewhere, deep inside me, is the solution.
I don't know why I do this to myself. I was telling Hammerstix that the entire situation is sad and degrading, but I legitimately don't have the energy to seek out anything better. That's true. I guess there's nothing more to say about it. I'm just going to hang tight until it fades out. Then I'll cry a little bit, and hopefully move on stronger and more confident in my own self-worth, having learned a valuable lesson about accepting mediocrity.
Much like living in the belly of the sarlacc, being slowly digested over a period of a thousand years, work has provided me with a new definition of pain and suffering. I was supposed to be laid off again. The Extended Stay department was getting shut down, and I, as the only employee, should have found myself the recipient of a beefy severance package, and with a spot reserved in the joke that is the unemployment line. Instead, however, Sasha fought to retain my job for me, because she cares about me as a friend and also an asset to the company. What happened was my job duties were redefined to the rank of administrative assistant, and my pay scale was restructured to reflect that as well. I didn't want this job, and I'm not exactly qualified, mentally speaking, to maintain it. However, Human Resources explained to me that if I did not accept these new duties, it would be considered insubordination, and they would accept my willing resignation, and deny any unemployment insurance claims they received. I am stuck between a rock and a hard place. I accepted my new responsibilities, and I hate every second of it. I'm not even any good at it. For the first four hours of my shift, I am constantly in a clusterfuck tornado of sales reps, shoving their fists so far up my ass, I can taste it in the back of my throat. That is followed by two hours of paperwork, where I find myself completely unable to process even simple numbers, and then two hours after that, daily reports are run that force me to fix the problems I created by my inability to perform simple arithmetic earlier in the day. Every day, I am miserable, but too beaten down by life to pursue anything better. I am what's wrong with America. I am what's wrong with my life. I am the cause of all my problems, and somewhere, deep inside me, is the solution.