Little Bit of This, Little Bit of That

Lately in our household, we've been considering - very seriously - the idea of joining the YMCA. And too, actually going there a few times a week to walk, use the weights, swim, whatever.

This is insane.

I hate exercise with the burning passion of a billion effulgent suns. Every single fiber of my being is screaming bloody murder at the top of its (huh, that feels like the wrong identifier) lungs. Motherfucker, I just want to lie down and READ. I have absolutely no interest whatsoever in getting up and moving.

But somehow, this errant common sense and completely ridiculous and misplaced desire to "get in better shape" (you know, besides round) is winning out, and I am conflicted HATE it. And even being absolutely livid about it isn't stopping me from probably doing it.

I can only assume this means that I have officially gained "adult" status and really am as old as Boychild believes I am. Otherwise, there is something very wrong with me AND I WANT IT TO STOP NOW, PLSKTHX.

I never, ever thought I'd say this, but getting older sucks.

Or maybe it's not the getting older part, but the realizing it that sucks. I am not amused.

I hate my job.

Stop, rephrase. I hate what my job has become.

It's been a while since I bitched about work, so I might as well dive back in while my frustration is raging, right?

Everything has been fucked up and busy as hell since, oh, the last time I posted about work. Which was, admittedly, last year. Nothing got any better, and then someone decided to merge the professional billing with the hospital billing WITH ONLY THREE MONTHS WORTH OF PLANNING.

Which, of course, fucked everything into a billion more pieces than it already was, so you can imagine the headaches in this place.

My dipshit coworker finally retired at the end of April, but did literally NO* work the whole last week, and of course the only other person who knew how to do it was me.

Then they moved cash application down to yet another new manager and supervisor, and these ones, we've discovered, are micro-managers. We've been on our own for the better part of eight years, and suddenly we're under what feels like a microscope.

"You should only be taking two minutes in the bathroom."

"You need to fill out this stat sheet every single day."

"You need to log how many phone calls you get and how long each one takes."

And a bunch of other piddly things that while they do add up, it takes me fifteen to thirty minutes just to do the motherfucking recording of all this shit, and then they ask, "What took you this half hour?" and "You were gone from your desk for four minutes, what were you doing?" Well Jesus Christ on motherfucking stilts, calculating all that shit took half an hour alone! And I was in the bathroom for four minutes; if you can do it in two, then don't touch me or anything on my desk because you aren't cleaning yourself or your hands properly. Two minutes. It takes thirty seconds to walk there and another thirty to walk back, I cannot pee that fast, SUE ME. Fuckers.

I've been trying to train people and so I'm pulled away from my desk just as much as before, yet they're unable to see that it cuts into the time I should be able to use for actually posting the damn cash. It's like I'm back to the first couple years with my first supervisor here, and I am just about ready to tell them to fuck themselves running. Like, literally - just leave all of this stuff to them. They have NO idea what's untouched yet, because I can't get past this other shit Asshole McBastardPants left. It's a vicious cycle and there's just no end in sight.

I have been trying to be open minded about things because I know I resist change like nobody's business (Look, I just think you should make it perfectly clear - preferably with examples/proof - that the changes will make things better and smoother and not be a pain in everyone's collective damn ass, okay?), but I've given it over a month now and it should have gotten better but hasn't.

Impatient? Me? Damn skippy.

Sigh.

*No, seriously, he did NOTHING the whole last week. He ignored everything that came up that was his, walked around and chatted with people, made appointments to talk to people in HR and was basically everywhere but his desk. When his ass actually managed to find his desk chair, he only took small piles of work THAT HE'D ALREADY DONE and pretended to look them up so it looked like he was working. I WATCHED HIM DO THIS. It wasn't surprising, really, but at the same time, just-. WTF.

So OMGWTF are people smoking?! Like, seriously. I get in this morning and the first thing that happens? My mentally-disabled coworker apparently threw me under the bus in her "meeting" on the sixth by saying that I NEVER HELP HER OR EXPLAIN THINGS OR ANSWER ANY QUESTIONS FOR HER.

I wasn't angry, I'm still not, just mostly baffled! I know that she was lashing out, because she's afraid and doesn't really understand anything that's going on, and because it's a defense mechanism. But at the same time, JESUS, I hope when she was spouting those lies that the people hearing them were considering the source!

Already people who've heard about it are jumping to my defense, and angry on my behalf because I wasn't even here last week to defend myself. And there's been serious mishandling by the manager so far anyway, according to several people. I'm just - GAH. I need a different workplace, and I need it, like, yesterday.

I may start looking on other hospitals' websites for job postings, I don't know. There's certainly nothing in my own hospital, nor would I ever want to have to deal with this manager again. I'm so...fuck, I don't even know what I'm feeling right now. It's not anger, it's not hate, it's not hurt...it's like a mixture of the three, but not even simmering. I'm...I am weary. I'm only 32 years old. I shouldn't be feeling like it's time to retire...and I just got back from vacation, for shit's sake.

Talked to Mom this morning. She said she talked to Dad and they're going to do the test in two parts, so they'll keep him again tonight. She wanted to know if we were going to see him later, and if so, could we pick her up and take her along so she doesn't have to ask Steve again.

Of course we can, and we decided we WILL go to visit him, so of course we'll fetch her on the way, we know how she is about driving.

But at the same time, JESUS, Mom - I don't like to drive, either, but I CAN DO IT IF I HAVE TO. *rolls eyes*

This is just making her a basket case.

Well. More of a basket case than usual, anyway.

It makes me think of everything I'll have to take on should Bad Things Happen, which makes me feel selfish, but EXHAUSTED with the sheer enormity of it. I don't even know if I can coherently explain everything that would go into that kind of disaster. Just know that it would be Huge and Not Good.

Dear Dad,

I am your oldest and sanest child. I should not have to find out from one of the most unstable ones that you have had chest pains for three days and have been at the hospital since 2:30 this afternoon, after you finally called the nurse line...and that after she beat around the bush about being worried and forced me to roll my eyes and ask flat-out if she was planning to spill it or just be all vague about it.

I am aware that I am an adult and no longer really get to qualify as Daddy's Little Girl, but I do still expect you to instruct SOMEONE to call me, if you're unable to just do it your bloody self. I'm the one who will have to clean up the aftermath should Bad Things Happen, so I'm pretty sure I'm entitled to a call from you or someone else under your direction.

And dammit, you should have called me two days ago, when said chest pains had been present for 24 hours. I am Not Amused.

I expect a phone call tomorrow after your nuclear stress test to let me know how it went. I expect another phone call when you get the results from that test. And I expect phone calls for any subsequent tests and results. I know we live only a couple miles apart, and that I'm really not a Chat-on-the-Phone Kind of Girl, but there are reasons for having a phone in the first place. This would be one of them. Put your Dad suit on and CALL ME.

I am Irritated With You.

But I Still Love You, You Bonehead,

Kim

I've had it at work. I don't give a shit anymore; I'm just going to do my job and then go the hell home. I'm tired of being talked over, of being told by the new manager that she understands my point when she won't even let me finish making it. I've had about enough of being asked the same question over and over; I don't make a habit of lying about my work, about what I say I'll do, as anyone here will tell her, as many HAVE told her.

There was a quarterly finance meeting yesterday for all the managers, and according to Victoria in our meeting this morning, she felt bad because all the other managers were bragging about their staff and she couldn't brag about us. There was nothing big or spectacular to brag about, so she didn't say anything.

I tried telling her that in my position, we don't have an opportunity for the kind of spectacular thing she's wanting; all we can do is our jobs, within the assigned time frame - there is nothing we can do that would be considered HUGE and brag-worthy because it would just be part of our job. She was talking over me before I finished, telling me she knew what I meant. Karen, in refunds, has been doing a two person job by herself for two months and keeping up with it just fine, which eliminates the need to hire another full-time employee to replace the one who'd retired, and therefore saves money. Me and my cashiers are posting money faster than ever before. You know what she said? I shit you not, she said, verbatim: "That's not good enough. It has to be something big. Do something huge so I can brag next March."

I am so not kidding; those were her exact words.

There's a pilot program going on right now with IT; one of our better IT guys is training a few people within each unit to be "superusers," the first point-off people when others are having computer problems. So much time is wasted by IT for little things like cords coming loose, restarting a computer, etc., and by having a few designated people on each unit to kind of triage issues, a lot of calls to the help desk will be eliminated and lots of time and resources saved, not to mention money. I'm one of the superusers, and five others. She started talking about it, and got one fact wrong, misexplained the rest of it, then failed to pass on the information they all needed to know. I tried to bring it up again, and she began talking over me again!

I don't even know why I bother anymore. I give up entirely. I tried being open-minded, I tried giving her the benefit of the doubt, I think I have been ridiculously understanding. I was supposed to have a one-on-one with her today, but I didn't bother going. There's nothing she can do for me, especially when she has never once let me finish a fucking sentence. I am done.

On a separate yet related note, who knows how to write a resumé that can make something out of nothing? Because that's where I get hung up, and I am at the point where I just want someone to write it for me.

A winning lottery ticket would also suffice. Just sayin'.

I sent an email to my boss this morning:

My grandmother took a very, very bad fall on Saturday evening and is unresponsive in the Trauma unit at North Memorial. She’s being moved to a hospice room, and no one expects her to be holding on much longer.

I wanted to let you know, as I’ll need to leave when she goes.

Thanks.
Kim

This is what she sent me back. Verbatim:

I hope all is well

.....

What the fuck?! Of course all isn't well, you moron. She's dying!!

And just because I'm in the mood to be irrational, I'll tell you all how bloody irritating it is that there was no signature, neither automatically added nor typed in, no name signed or whatever. Literally, that's all the response said. *rolls eyes very, very hard*

*******

In other news, she's been moved to a hospice room now, about seven this morning, actually. Dad says her breathing is slower and shallower now, and alternates between sounding like a percolator and sounding like a purring cat.

*sigh*

1. WTF is it with men? Christ in a sidecar, they complain about how women are indecisive, but completely ignore their own inability to just tell us what the hell they want!! For the love of God, if I say I don't care and I'll be happy with whatever you bring home, then dammit, I bloody well mean it! I don't lie to you about it because that would be cruel and ridiculous and fosters ill-will and bad feelings and doesn't accomplish anything. I shouldn't always have to tell you what I want, then have you NEVER return the damn favor. And when I say I don't care, I DON'T CARE!! Why is this so difficult to understand and accept? He tells me I can never just take a compliment - well, HE can never just take me at my word and accept it for what it is! Does he think I'm like the stereotypical women on TV or movies or books? God Almighty, give me strength not to ignore him the rest of the night.

2. Still sick, but feeling better. My throat hurts, it's difficult to move too quickly for shortness of breath and I'm sick to death of coughing, but I'm up and moving, so I'll be going to work tomorrow. Boo.

3. HAPPY ANNIVERSARY, BETH & STEPHEN!!

I hope you have a wonderful evening!! *cuddles*

All right, so I am perfectly well aware that I am very OCD about some things, and that I prefer things to be done in a particular way. I am also aware that not everyone is the same, regardless of how nutso I think that makes them, and I keep a tight lid on it because I know that my expectations can be a little unrealistic for the huddled masses at times.

But seriously? I'm gone a week, I leave a detailed email to tell them what to do with their credit card slips, one that isn't even out of the realm of reasonability and is easy enough to follow, and I send it a day before I leave so that they can ask me questions if they have any, and I still get a mess back? Seriously?

Does nobody think about how it'll be for the end person? Is it so difficult to put things in some semblance of order so that it's easier for someone else down the road?

One envelope. ONE that was done the way I requested and the person made the miniscule necessary effort to keep the slips neat and in date order.

asdf;lkj

*shakes head*

The temperature at my house this morning when we stepped outside? Yeah. -30º Fahrenheit. For you Centigrade-readers, that's -34º Celsius. And as you may or may not know, Fahrenheit and Celsius are exactly the same at 40 below. I believe "Holy Shit" would be an appropriate epithet here. And I think what's sadder is that the -30º F reading? That's just the temperature. The wind chill today here in my city is more than 40 below. Cover up, girls and boys, frostbite sets in within four or five minutes at these temps.

In other news, my bonus payout was supposed to be due this past Monday. I finally got hold of payroll because I haven't received it yet, and the boneheads aren't finished. They "hope to have it ready by today, possibly tomorrow." Which means I won't be getting the check promised to me for the 12th until oh, Saturday, possibly Monday. Idiots.

Also, I'm off to buy ingredients for a massive spaghetti dinner. God, I hope I get enough stuff...

Those of you in cold areas today - keep warm! *hugs*