No More Work Left

I somehow did it. I somehow made it to the weekend. Tomorrow, I leave for Hawaii.

But don't think it was an easy road. My mind has hardly there, and pretty much every day I was getting in trouble for something. There's so much to get in trouble for there.

I try to remember that no matter how poorly I do and how shitty my work is, it's really difficult for them to fire me unless I break a few laws and do some really stupid stuff (this is a list of Section 1203 violations that would get me fired). But I still worry about my work. Why? I wish I didn't. I know that the sun will still rise tomorrow if I fail to do a few administrative things; I don't know if my manager knows this, though.

I keep thinking about how I'll have to come back anyway and still report back into work. Damn. How the hell am I going to do that? I hate it, and I assume that the longer I'm gone the less I'll want to go back. You see, I know that the work will build up. On top of that, my manager, I'm sure, has already started compiling a list of shit I fucked up on.

And then there's the Red Light. How I hate that little red light. You know which one I'm talking about--the voicemail indicator light. Oh, how I hate that light. It sits there on my phone. And I hate answering the phone, so that light is lit up a lot. But even MORE, I hate that Red Light. So I check my messages a lot, and answer the phone (despite my hatred of the people at the other end) a whole lot to keep that fucking Red Light from glowing.

But I'll get back and despite my message that says, "I won't be here from the 25th to the 30th. If there is an emergency, you may reach so-and-so at extension blah-blah-blah. I will be UNREACHABLE during this time," there'll be at LEAST 12--NO, FIFTEEN!!--messages. Most messages will say something along the lines of their issue being really important and could I call them back immediately. Cunts.

I asked my manager if I could say, "I won't be here from the 25th to the 30th. If there is an emergency, please hang up and dial 9-1-1." She said no. I think that'd be pretty funny. "9-1-1?! I need to file a tax return, and the guy that is supposed to be there ISN'T!!"

I just know that something's going to happen while I'm gone so that on Monday, August 1st, when I come sauntering through the door, I'll wish I hadn't. I'll wish I'd missed my flight, overslept, found a different job, ANYTHING.

Meanwhile, I was talking to coworkers about area condos. In my previous post, I said the cheapest condo in Pasadena would be about $400,000. Nah, it'd probably be closer to $500,000. What the fuck is this?

In almost any other city, I could afford a somewhat nice, relatively large house in a nice neighborhood. Here? Forget it. Think of renting and living off Kraft macaroni and cheese for the rest of my life.

Try to cope without me, okay? I'll be gone a week, and during that time I assume I won't be able to update my blog. Be strong, bitches!