Drive home thoughts
Blogs may not get done at all. My supervisor is a nice lady when she's not supervising. As a supervisor, she is a paranoid, anal-retentive twit who hates to see us enjoying the day or with time on our hands. She'll stand up for us at the same time refusing to get something that will make our jobs easier. I still don't know how these halves reconcile at night.
She says all I'm doing is playing on the Internet. I can't keep my notebook on my desk because that is playing on the Internet.
What it is is bullshit. I'm doing my work and it shouldn't matter that I write a sentence between every five lawsuits. But because we don't do any work unless her eagle eye is on us (in her mind anyway), it matters. I've been dwelling on it the whole way home and now I'm crying and I'm blaming hormones. But it's still bullshit.
Aftermath
I went to Chad's that night, but stopped at a gas station on my way there. A beautiful orange tabby kitten stopped following the drunk he was with and followed me back to my truck. With visions of street pizza kitten in my head, I went back inside with him. The drunk didn't want him, so I took him. His name is Mustard. It appealed to my sense of the absurd. Adopting him also got me out of the funk that the earlier news had put me into.
I'm going to smile and nod and pull it out at lunch. Or when we finish the stupid lawsuits (I estimate three weeks at the max) and she's fuming we have nothing to do.
Newsletter and updated Library go out tonight. Unfortunately, I don't have a new story. I'm too tired to keep working at it and tomorrow I have to help lay new floor down in my mother's house.
Read Free!
The BookWorm
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