The real world, on the other hand, continues to suck the big one. It will come as no surprise to anyone who knows me, but I did not quit. I did lay down the law, and the boss lady did get beautifully uncomfortable, as if she had finally been exposed for a fraud. This nearly enraged me moreso, because there was a degree of admission in that look, admission that she knew I had been overworked, admission that she had not done anything in the way of telling people to let up when she knew she should have. I wonder how people like this sleep at night. Then again, this is one of those times when my cynical mask cracks and the idealist underneath becomes apparent: if I was sufficiently jaded, I should have expected as much.
The end result is that the boss lady now knows that my time is precious, and that times, they are a-changing. The important thing in these situations, I have learned, is not to waver in the slightest. You have to make statements like I cannot work hours like this anymore, instead of open-ended remarks like I have been working too many hours. Since I am back to being as cranky as I want to be, I fully expect nothing to happen, though. But I am giving her a week before I crack and simply stop coming to work.
V and maisnon were right, in that there is something liberating about standing up for yourself. If anything, I have at a minimum earned myself a reprieve from any snark or harassment should I curtail my hours to seemingly meager (translation: 40 hours). And the next six weeks are do-or-die time for me, and I do not want to look back on the time and think ah, if only I had not spent seventy hours at work every week, I might have actually achieved The Goal. It is the worst feeling in the world to wonder if you made that sort of misstep, to be nagged by all the if only's.
In other news, this has been a great study of what I do when I am on the verge of frantic explosion:
- Stare into vodka heaven at Voda. The lounge, in addition to being on the most precious of precious alleys, Belden Place (ahem- note, not in the Mission), literally has a wall of vodka. But the psychedelic part is that the wall is backlit with colored lights that fade every so often into another color. I think the bartender thought I might be on drugs, because I ordered myself a Hangar One and tonic, and spaced out into oblivion for a solid fifteen minutes before my co-worker showed up.
- Snap at people who try to talk my down off the ledge by telling me I need to calm down. I am not proud of this behavior, but sometimes, you need to be not calm. A little angst can go a long way into propelling you into motion. I needed to believe I could have quit today if pushed. Staying calm does not allow for that.
- Eat massive quantities of Easter chocolate that a co-worker gave me. Seriously. My throat is sore from the amount of sugar I have ingested, and my stomach feels like it is coated with lard. Nice visual, right? Why can't I suffer from that thing where, when people are depressed, they cannot eat. Break me off some of that.
Now I have to go home and be disappointed with the return of Alias. I hear there is only about five seconds of Vaughn, so I am not sure why I am even bothering, except that I need something mindless.
Tomorrow will be a better day. I have to do something for The Goal, which always makes me feel strangely better about things.
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