The Phoenix and the Angry BirdPosted: November 13, 2011
Many of my readers and friends have told me that I need to keep writing. I blew them off with a dismissive wave of hand accompanied by the same old and tired rhetoric; the same rhetoric I have repeated ad nauseam until it became personal truth: “Writing doesn’t come easily; I am, after all, the author of the 12-hour paragraph. Writing is a chore. I don’t have time for it. It stresses me out. I can’t keep up with the expectations of a regular audience, no matter how small it may be. Bla-blah, bla-blah, bla-blah…” Coincidentally, I also made myself scarce online.
The blog remained, narrowly escaping deletion in a moment of temporary insanity, standing testimony of personal failure, pointing the fingers of unfinished entries and missed deadlines accusingly at its creator.
So… what is really going on?
Life happens… rather, employment does. Not to get too far into that sad situation, let’s suffice it to say that my work environment borders on abusive. I have been enduring for over 18 months. Every time I think that maybe the storm has passed and things are settling down, I am hit with another salvo. I am not a problem employee by any standards. I am loyal, complete my tasks, am a team player, and a problem solver. I help my fellow employees whenever I can, I cover for absences when I am able. My job performance cannot be faulted, on the contrary; however, that didn’t stop the harassment. It just meant that faults had to be created. I was (and still am) spoken ill of, my concerns are of no consequence to the people in charge, and I am made out to be a person with anger management issues, apparently suffer from a personality disorder or two, which prevents me from getting along with my customers, coworkers and management. Or so I am labeled. My reputation has been sullied. I am paid less than I should be. I am constantly criticized for my “excessive” sick days. Some of the people I work with aren’t speaking to me anymore, because I called them on their continued laziness after trying to work it out with them for months. What came of it? Nothing. I was told to stay away from them and bring up further issues directly. They continue to not do their jobs, which in turn makes my job a miserable proposition when it gets busy.
Enough of that. Yes, that was the short version.
My health is suffering: my stress levels are in the red; my sleep is disturbed; I have developed migraines, have constant gastrointestinal upsets, suffer from low-grade depression, and am angry all the time. I barely keep it together at work, just so that my loved ones may suffer at the hands of pent up frustration and helplessness turned to seething anger. I have no recourse, this is a right to work state and my actual boss has no backbone. Can I prove any of this? No. They may be morons, but they know how to play this game. Short of some ridiculous write-ups and the throttling of my pay, it is their word against mine. I cannot win. I ate more crow during my stint at this company than I care to admit. There might be cause to put crow on the endangered species list. I just wanted to do my job to the best of my ability and go home. But it doesn’t work like that in the real world. I thought it did. For a little while until I became too exhausted for a life outside of my subservience to Corporate America at the hands of The (wo)Man.
Not only did my health suffer. My racing skill progression slowed, came to a complete stop before it finally reversed itself and my performance degraded to the point of regression. They cancelled my vacation to Germany to join my Dad in the celebration of his 80th birthday. I lost money on non-refundable tickets for my daughter. This is the last straw. I am done. I refuse to let this job interfere with my personal pursuits and degrade my health any further. It is time to start the process of making changes for the better. This job isn’t in those plans. If they do not find me a different contract suited for my skills, I am a short-timer in this outfit.
My days here are numbered. And knowing that gives me strength. I will rise up out of the ashes, like the mythological Phoenix, but I’m one hell of a pissed off bird. My UK readers will definitely get a chuckle out of this one, considering that I am at war with a couple of pigs.
I am back.
And if I get fired for having written this, you’ll find this angry bird getting arrested downtown by yet another couple of pigs, during the Occupy Augusta movement.
There. I’ve said it. Unedited, with horrible punctuation and grammar. =D