I thought it was Friday all day. I turned off the alarm and slept an extra half hour (elliptical trainer? eh - blown off) and all day it felt like Friday. This was not a fun week. I love the new boss and I hope he can slap some control over the crazy, because I am ready to file bankruptcy and go work at Starbucks.
I am burned out and don't have the energy for this anymore. I am sick unto death of explaining why shit over which I have absolutely no control is not done to people who should see and understand why it is how it is. Because we don't control it. That's the answer. Go read the contract and weep. Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot, I'm the only one who read the damn contract - contracts are so boring and icky and full of legal words that totally kill our happy little buzz. We prefer to imagine what they say! Contractual reality is so not fluffy and pink and full of dancing bunnies. Let Catherine read it. She's here for the shit work.
But first we must do the power grab in front of new boss, in which the same two Buffys who tried to tell me what to do when the old boss left are emailing me and cc-ing the new boss to give me orders. I slapped them both down. I'm old, tired and cranky. Don't fuck with me, Cupcake. I don't care anymore and that makes me dangerous.
My son rented the nice gas heat place right off downtown Asheville, and already has a line on a fill the gap job and a connection for a really cool job. (I'm telling you, this kid knows everybody in the South by six degrees.) I scouted law firms and identified a couple of fill the gap prospects, but I really would like to get out of this paralegal crap entirely. I like construction, I could happily play office manager for somebody, though I'd really like work for a resort of some sort. I would make a hell of an event planner. I've attended enough corporate functions, sometimes at virtual gunpoint, and as a grumpy conscripted attendee, I know what the people like me want and really appreciate. I know how to make a tired resentful corporate bitch like me happy. Dealing with tourists is Demanding? Stressful? Shit, tell a division president that the plat that holds a few hundred lots we need to sell to make our numbers isn't recorded yet (for reasons we can't control in any way and this is why we need to develop our own shit in the future - actually you should develop it, because I plan to be gone). You haven't seen mad and ranting until you've done this. If I can face that, I can do anything.
As I told Amie in comments below, I am loving the Bambu 7. It's sooo slinky and cool to the touch. I'm using the All Season Shawl pattern again, because I love to repeat something mindless while watching or at least listening to TV, and this weekend I promise to show you drape like you've never seen in crochet. Droopy, slinky, drapey goodness. A double-single crochet pattern on a D hook that hangs like a liquid yet is not heavy. It will have to be big, because something with this much ooze will have to be big enough to really pull up over the shoulders to hang from there. It's a weird yarn but I will use it again. In something simple, because God forbid you drop a stitch. Gravity is not pretty.