Apr. 14th, 2011

darkflame173: (Default)
Week in and week out, day after day, hour on hour, I wait, and I wait. I wait to see what sarcastic comment will be leveled at me, I wait to see what small thing she will get mad at me for this time, I wait for an insult to my memory, to my intelligence, to my weight. I wait for a crack at my eating habits, I wait to see what mistake I made that will be hurled back in my face. I never wait long, you see. Even today, I come in to get dressed down first thing in the morning, for something that may not have been my fault, who knows, she never believes me anyway. The special finance manager comes down when she is not in the room to ask me how I enjoyed my Blueberry Muffin? What Blueberry Muffin? Oh, the one that is still sitting on her desk, because she has not seen fit to give it to me. I'm fat, after all, I don't need that. And no, I don't make an issue of it, because she is always right, and I am always wrong, and anything I say can and will be held against me. Yes, my memory is spotty, yes I am overweight. Thank you Paxil for both of those. But it's all me, it's not the medication. My memory did not used to be this bad, I was not always scatterbrained all my life. But I am wrong in this. And she has been with the company far longer than me, so whatever happens, my side will not be taken. Never mind that the woman there longer than her, who so recently retired, once did all of this to her. Never mind that she felt then just like I do now. None of that matters. I am scared to look for a new job. I know nothing about making resumes, it seems all of the jobs I have ever gotten I either lucked into or knew someone. And the unknown makes me nervous. Better the devil you know, they say. But I have had self esteem issues all of my life, and I thought I was making headway. But. I keep thinking I am too old for this, but it still hurts. And I don't want it to hurt, dammit. I want to not care. But I spend 8 hours of my day there, so it matters.
Maybe it would not be quite so bad if everyone else is treated differently. It's just me. Not the cashier, for certain. Just me. She left yesterday to go get a cupcake to try out that she wants to make for cooking class. I have to fight just to be able to go to the tag office, part of my job. Isn't obvious fun?

Alas, back to work.


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November 2011

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