So, it's been approximately a million years since I've posted on my blog, and with very good reason... I have been internetless in my new apartment ever since I moved in at the start of the month.
Those that know me, or know my blog, are aware that any amount of internet deprivation has been known to send me off the deep end, in terms of mental and personal wellness. Brief hours of internet blackouts will render me in tears and wailing at the skies; days of internet withdrawal will take their toll on not only my physical and mental health, but also that of everyone in my immediate vicinity. I need my internet to live.
Is it an addiction? Maybe. Probably. But it's also a tool which has integrated into every sector of my life...and using tools in was separates us from the aardvarks, people.
So, in order to keep myself sane, I've been stealing internet from work on my lunchbreak and after hours and rocking slowly in the fetal position to make the lambs stop screaming...standard efforts. But finding the time to blog, or even to post blogs that I've written (in my sad, internetless cave of an apartment) has been difficult...so, I'm sorry.
Shaw, who are Demon Spawn, have promised to install internet in just over a week's time. Then again, they also promised to install internet a week ago, and that didn't happen. I hate Shaw. So, until that time, whether in a week or a year, when I finally can suckle at the teat of the interweb once more, blog posting may be erratic, and that sucks. Mostly, for me.
Love to all, and please enjoy this random quote, acquired this morning on my daily 5-minute commute to work from Vancouver's happening gay district....
"Aw, look at that cute lesbian couple! Wait, no, ew. They're just really unattractive heterosexuals."
Friday, June 25, 2010
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Why Work Sucks
TOP 3 REASONS WHY I HATE MY JOB (in the last 7 days)...
1. Being invited to a dinner for one of our practicum students, not really feeling up to going to said dinner, not having enough money to go to said dinner, being convinced to attend said dinner anyways.
Arriving at the restaurant to find several coworkers, two former practicum students, and one volunteer who is also a client. Not saying anything regarding the client’s presence, because it was awkward, and there was a big group of us, and no one else was saying anything, and convincing myself it was fine. Eating food, having good time, going home.
Being sick for two days, after which I returned to shitstorm of doom, which culminated in an individual meeting with my manager to give me a verbal warning to compliment the report she had made to HR regarding my unprofessional conduct with a client. (Because, while I did not invite a client out to a social gathering, another staff had, and I was present, and I didn’t say anything, but I should have. Also, because other staff were drinking and so was the client and that was bad, even though I wasn’t drinking. And my manager telling me that she didn’t know that she would respond differently in the same situation, so she’s glad she wasn’t there. Fuck.)
2.i. Listening to a large Muslim man screaming for thirty minutes in the middle of my workplace about how he was going to kill and cut out the tongue of a petite, hostile woman who had said, eloquently, “fuck Muslims,” and been escorted by staff from the building. Finally, eventually, getting the man calm enough to sit, breath, and then exit.
ii. Having to file a police report after becoming scared that said man would actually kill and cut out the tongue of said woman, and vaguely recalling that counselling professionals were legally obligated to report serious threats, even if it meant breaking confidentiality. Wondering if I qualify as a professional, deciding I probably don’t, erring of the side of caution anyways. Feeling guilty.
iii. Being sad and conflicted, because I really do like the man in question, and I don’t want him to get in trouble, but I also don’t want him to kill anyone, or cut out their tongues, or cause large and frightening disruptions in the middle of our centre. Being sad because the man has absolutely no insight that his reaction was inappropriate or out of proportion in any way. Being sad because my life has been invaded by a destructive religious cliche.
iv. Discovering that, during my weekend, coworkers who were not present during the original incident had decided to ban said woman for a month, and said man for a week, which would have been fine, except for the whole “holding the entire centre hostage for a half hour while screaming violently about how he was going to kill someone less than half his size and cut out their tongue” part, which apparently was deemed unimportant.
1.i. Cracking, “who died?” when an unusually large impromptu meeting occurs, and having our manager respond with a name of a well-loved client who had committed suicide that morning. Gasps and crying ensue.
ii. Bursting into tears during my lunch break which, because lunch was served late, was divided into two thirty-minute halves. Deciding after twenty-five minutes of crying (which had rendered my face incredibly red, blotchy, and quasimodo-esque) that I was not okay to go back to work, and then finding out that, not only were were intentionally short-staffed that day, but that all other workers in the building (save four) had decided to take an impromptu afternoon off. Then returning to work, trying to remember that anger is a step in the grieving process.
iii. Spending the first ten minutes of my second crying-break watching a large unknown woman on the street banging on the window of an neighbouring restaurant while screaming and swearing and generally causing a scene.
iv. Leaving my crying-break at running pace when same screaming swearing woman crosses the street and enters our building.
After evicting said woman from our building (via her swearing at me until she voluntarily exited), letting my coworkers know that I was then returning upstairs to take the second half of the second half of my break, at which point one coworker laughed, “why, because you’re crying?” to which I responded, elegantly, “fuck you,” apologized, and then burst into tears.
I have become the screaming swearing woman that I hate.
1. Being invited to a dinner for one of our practicum students, not really feeling up to going to said dinner, not having enough money to go to said dinner, being convinced to attend said dinner anyways.
Arriving at the restaurant to find several coworkers, two former practicum students, and one volunteer who is also a client. Not saying anything regarding the client’s presence, because it was awkward, and there was a big group of us, and no one else was saying anything, and convincing myself it was fine. Eating food, having good time, going home.
Being sick for two days, after which I returned to shitstorm of doom, which culminated in an individual meeting with my manager to give me a verbal warning to compliment the report she had made to HR regarding my unprofessional conduct with a client. (Because, while I did not invite a client out to a social gathering, another staff had, and I was present, and I didn’t say anything, but I should have. Also, because other staff were drinking and so was the client and that was bad, even though I wasn’t drinking. And my manager telling me that she didn’t know that she would respond differently in the same situation, so she’s glad she wasn’t there. Fuck.)
2.i. Listening to a large Muslim man screaming for thirty minutes in the middle of my workplace about how he was going to kill and cut out the tongue of a petite, hostile woman who had said, eloquently, “fuck Muslims,” and been escorted by staff from the building. Finally, eventually, getting the man calm enough to sit, breath, and then exit.
ii. Having to file a police report after becoming scared that said man would actually kill and cut out the tongue of said woman, and vaguely recalling that counselling professionals were legally obligated to report serious threats, even if it meant breaking confidentiality. Wondering if I qualify as a professional, deciding I probably don’t, erring of the side of caution anyways. Feeling guilty.
iii. Being sad and conflicted, because I really do like the man in question, and I don’t want him to get in trouble, but I also don’t want him to kill anyone, or cut out their tongues, or cause large and frightening disruptions in the middle of our centre. Being sad because the man has absolutely no insight that his reaction was inappropriate or out of proportion in any way. Being sad because my life has been invaded by a destructive religious cliche.
iv. Discovering that, during my weekend, coworkers who were not present during the original incident had decided to ban said woman for a month, and said man for a week, which would have been fine, except for the whole “holding the entire centre hostage for a half hour while screaming violently about how he was going to kill someone less than half his size and cut out their tongue” part, which apparently was deemed unimportant.
1.i. Cracking, “who died?” when an unusually large impromptu meeting occurs, and having our manager respond with a name of a well-loved client who had committed suicide that morning. Gasps and crying ensue.
ii. Bursting into tears during my lunch break which, because lunch was served late, was divided into two thirty-minute halves. Deciding after twenty-five minutes of crying (which had rendered my face incredibly red, blotchy, and quasimodo-esque) that I was not okay to go back to work, and then finding out that, not only were were intentionally short-staffed that day, but that all other workers in the building (save four) had decided to take an impromptu afternoon off. Then returning to work, trying to remember that anger is a step in the grieving process.
iii. Spending the first ten minutes of my second crying-break watching a large unknown woman on the street banging on the window of an neighbouring restaurant while screaming and swearing and generally causing a scene.
iv. Leaving my crying-break at running pace when same screaming swearing woman crosses the street and enters our building.
After evicting said woman from our building (via her swearing at me until she voluntarily exited), letting my coworkers know that I was then returning upstairs to take the second half of the second half of my break, at which point one coworker laughed, “why, because you’re crying?” to which I responded, elegantly, “fuck you,” apologized, and then burst into tears.
I have become the screaming swearing woman that I hate.
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