Last week I walked out of the part time job I'd managed to convince myself I was stuck in for the past five years. Its been stressful and demeaning and the people I worked with have been, for the most part, depressed and demoralising. Some (like me, at the time) were there because they saw no hope for anything better. Not a good attitude to bask in. Others were actually there as part of a career progression, working to their capacity yet constantly vying to be seen as 'the best' at what they do, through various levels of toadying and backstabbing. They just made it easier to fall in with the relatively benign 'sighing defeatists'. It became unbearable when I realised just how much the lack of support was backed up by a managerial lack of respect, interest, willingness to listen, or general be bothered.
Pot wash, covered in grease and blood, again, because someone didn't empty a tray before they stacked it:
"Sir, that six-foot-something 20-something-stone chef with the hands like bunches of bananas, the one who's spent since Christmas trying to convince me that you are incompetent and moody and work me too hard (as opposed to he, who, if he had your job would make life a bed of roses) - that one - he just had a psychotic break, when there was nobody but us in the kitchen, verbally laid into me, intimidated me, bullied me, told me I don't do my job properly and now I'm hyperventilating and near to tears and scared and offended and I don't know what's going on and I need your help and your support"
"Stop overreacting you're making me angry. You two have always got it in for each other*. Can't you just be grown ups".
*News to me.
----Arms folded tight, lots of eye rolling and half smiles and looking innocent when boss looks, and totally smug when he doesn't.
I do not need this. They can have the place to themselves; they deserve each other.
Turns out psycho, who keeps telling me to go home early when boss isn't there, and not to bother with X or Y so that even if I want to do the work I become trapped, unable to do my job at the risk of offending him; turns out he's been doing all this and at the same time moaning to the boss that I don't do enough work. Playing both ends off against the middle. What an unfortunate understanding of what it is to 'win', in this life.
There should be a comedy show about it.
Maybe one day.
So here I am, out of a job.
On the up side...
Wonderful Thing 1
I was phoned on Friday to attend a job interview. Its a weekend thing that I might have done side by side with the other, for a while, to get ahead of the game for once. Never mind. Dear heaven, if I get it, at least that will cover my share of the outgoings for now, and give me the whole week to build up by EFT business, which up until now has been so select and elite that you might have mistaken it for a hobby.
Wonderful Thing 2
I start my training to become an AAMET qualified Trainer, this coming weekend! I don't know if there's much in the way of a test to do after the three day training, but if not, I could be a trainer by this time next week. By the middle of June I'll have added picture tapping and PTSD-specific training to my toolbox, too.
Wonderful Thing 3
Today I authorised payment for a quarter page advert in a Police magazine going out to schools and social workers and people involved in child protection. What an amazing niche to get in to!
Wonderful Thing 4
I have a couple more transcriptions to do for Fiona Truman's Back Hope telesummit.
Wonderful Thing 5
Gary has been totally amazing, loving and supportive. Its such a blessing to not feel like there's anyone angry or panicky watching for me to succeed, or fail. I am so grateful.
(Most) Wonderful Thing 6
Finally - I haven't managed to do this yet today because it deserves proper time and will be cathartic to the point of being spiritual - I realise I may now gather together all the awful, tatty, stained clothes that I had to wear to work for lack of a uniform; all the grotty items I left the house in, every day, that must have described me to the world for the most part of the last 60 months - gather them up (I imagine I'll fold and count them, too) - and bin the lot.
I mean; wow.