herewith, i shall vent about my fucking job.
our hours were cut last week, yet i mysteriously went from 3 shifts to 4 plus an on-call day. i have no days off together. i work thursdays 4-1, fridays 4-1, saturdays 9p-2a, sundays 4-1, and tuesdays on-call 4-12. what the fuck? c, who does the schedule, put her arm around me as she apologized. and i'm fucking pissed. i'm pissed because the place is going to shit. we're opening a satellite in renton in april and the plan is to cleave the staff between the two facilities- thereby restoring everyone from 3/4 to full time. this current schedule, therefore, is only in place until then... for now. we're all getting jacked in the meantime. i have far more responsibilities and no raise in 2 years. someone was fired a few weeks ago for "not living up to the core values of ACCES" (which they have framed on multiple walls of the hospital). i just don't fucking care. nobody does. and yet we are all so terrified of not having a job, of knowing that there ARE NO OTHER JOBS out there that do what we do, and honestly liking the place and our coworkers and the medicine we provide, that it's unwise to be dissonant. i mean, what's anyone going to do? there are no resources. we're all fucked. my frustration lies there- i hate feeling trapped, and i feel trapped. i wouldn't tolerate being treated this way if there were actually other options, but there aren't, and we all fucking know it.
i was looking at massage jobs online. they're all on the eastside, at spas and chiropractic offices, sounding odious on multiple levels. one place required we provide our own sheets to work in THEIR facility! fuck you, random clinic in issaquah! the pay at one place was $31/hr; the others didn't list their wages. i think "if i got totally desperate, i could do that... sell my soul to a fucking spa... i guess..." in the same way i think "i have a vagina, so i could always be a prostitute."
i would have to be desperate, i'm afraid.
*
today being my "on-call" shift, i spent it worrying that they were going to call. i seriously curtailed my normal activities... i spent only 15 minutes at a friend's birthday because i had to be in close proximity of my vehicle... i was stone-cold sober until i finally called work around 1030pm. "can i consider myself off-call so i can drink?" i blurted out. i didn't even neccessarily want one, but i hate being told i can't. and i resent the neurotic knot that the work situation has left in me; i hate walking on fucking eggshells in my own life.
at least i have a job.
i am very lucky to have a job. i do recognize and appreciate that. a lot.
it is 'nice' to know that we're all equally screwed. i am one of 60 people affected by this. i'm not alone. nobody is. that helps.
*
i bought my friend a cheap-ass bottle of champagne for his birthday. in front of me in line was a man buying his groceries with food stamps. i got a sick feeling- fuck, that'll be me. and i remembered anew how fucking lucky i am. i am very fortunate to be able to have a job to whine like a spoiled brat about.
i also found out that i can reapply for the avonex grant- the medication i take weekly for the MS. my income qualifies me for 2 years of free injections. without the grant it's about $1,200 a MONTH. i have been seriously worried about this for a while- i haven't had any real issues since i've been on the meds and the thought of being off them petrifies me, as hideous as they can be. knowing that i don't have to go bankrupt to keep myself healthy was a pleasant relief.
*
i fucking hate america. i hate that a fucking first-world country has to worry about such primitive shit.
i am an extremely disillusioned socialist.
*
went to brendan benson last night. i was in a flat mood- not the greatest for a concert environment. frank fairchild was sublime. brendan benson was endearing in a verse-chorus-verse kind of way. the drunken oafs seperating me from the stage kept slam-dancing inappropriately and the older man beside me had horrific flatulence. i actually left halfway through the set and rode the bus aimlessly, listening to "sh-boom" and feeling guiltily content.
the doors opened at 7. i was at the nearby thrift store until 845, reading "into the wild" for the first time. i was living in alaska when this happened (~1992) and recall the universal derision for this idealistic motherfucker. my boyfriend at the time thought he was cool, i remember. reading the story and thinking about how relate-to-able his mindset was- that whole fuck-materialism, live-off-the-grid, immortality thing- and how easy it is to think it can be applied to your own life, made me really sad whilst reading it. more than that, it made me feel really fucking old. i felt like slapping his fool ass into sense, not making him my personal garden of eden.
and it made me homesick.
but mostly, it just made me feel nauseous. it hit really close to home for no concrete reason. it was like reading about someone i went to school with. it was like knowing the future and watching someone walk into the building before it explodes.
*
it was in that mindset that i arrived at the show at 845. the place was as empty as i've ever seen neumo's.
i sucked on a nicotine lozenge and watched a pizza get delivered backstage.
*
this and every night, after the crowds leave.
i cannot wait for summer. i walked around for a while in a sweater, my coat slung over my bag. by the time i stranded my ass in broadview the sky was spitting rain and my coat was back on. the cherry trees are beginning to blossom. things are going to be fine, in their own convoluted way.
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