I've spent the last few days wallowing in self pity. I finally got the call about that job that I applied (and interviewed for) OH SO LONG AGO, and *huge surprise this*, I didn't get it.
Instead, they let me know that they hoped they could keep me on the list for temporary help.
I said, "F*ck you." Well, at least I did in my head. I do actually have to see these people on a daily basis, even though I didn't get the job.
Really I said, "No. I have children. I can't drop everything at a moment's notice for temporary employment. But thanks."
But all this wallowing has got me thinking. Why do I really want a paying job? What is the point really?
It's all about badges. Because despite the Mexican bandits of The Treasure of the Sierra Madre insistence that they don't need "no badges", most people in my life have them.
Don't get me wrong; I have badges. Mine are just the color coded lowest of the low - meaning that I am of no importance whatsoever. Which might be worse than having no badges at all.
Perhaps I should become a Mexican bandit.
I am so far behind in so many things. I owe my two children, whose birthday fall within two days of one another, their birthday posts. So, birthday posts forthcoming.
Victor has lost his damn mind. Medically.
5 hours ago