This week is dragging. I’m back at work, for two more weeks. My “supervisor” is back on my nerves and I’m remembering why part of me was so relieved when they finally confirmed that the rumor that we would be closing wasn’t just a rumor (because I’d reached that conclusion and proceeded to have a panic attack and cry my eyes out on my lunch break three days before they actually decided to tell us anything).
My attitude about this whole (un)employment situation keeps changing.
Today, I’m angry. REALLY angry. Because seriously, how fucking lame was it for them to leave us all unemployed TWO DAYS before Christmas when most of those people had children and a lot of them were single parents or the only person in their household working?! I’m single and living on my own and my roommate is already suffering from a work shortage, and now I’m left with no income and living in a rural area where there’s almost no chance that I’ll get another job making as much as I do now. I worked my ass off, went above and beyond the call of duty, for two and a half years, and this is how they repay me? By denying that we would be shutting down until the last possible second and then dropping the bomb on us like fucking Hiroshima? It’s taken a lot for me to even bother finishing out these last couple of weeks (and ultimately, I only decided to so that I could draw unemployment should it be necessary). My initial desire was to stand up and tell them where they could shove my keys and which parts of my anatomy they could kiss while I was on the way out the door. Bastards.
(I should warn you now, I say “fuck” a lot, even when I’m not angry. My use of foul language is really no indication of mood.)
But eventually, I’ll be sad. Because I worked with some of those people for the last three years and they’re people to me – not quite friends, but not just coworkers or employees … people with families and feelings. And I feel bad for them because, unlike me, most of them had other people depending on them.
Then I’ll work my way back around to being relieved. I’ll just be glad to be able to wash my hands of it all and never have to go back to that sinking ship. Because this job has stressed me quite out of my mind, and it’s really not worth it anymore (if it ever was). Maybe without that constant stress, I’ll be able to work my way back to a point where I don’t have to take a pill every day to enable myself to function and not have an anxiety attack in the course of an eight hour work day. Maybe this is one of those “one door closes and another opens” scenarios and I should just be happy because now I’ll have a clean slate to just run with. Because it can’t get much worse, right?
I don’t know. My mind is running rampant. I may have ADD. I should probably get that checked. But I won’t. Because I do not need to have it confirmed that there’s something else wrong with me. Quite screwed up enough without that, thanks.
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