Today I hate work

I've had a no-good-very-bad-horrible day today at work. 

(Ha!  In my writing dyslexia, 'today' came out 'toady'.  I knows me some toadies.)

By 9 am, I was already frustrated to the point of tears.  I'm buried at work and things aren't so hot at home.  I seem the only one who can make things happen either place.  Aarrrgh!

Yesterday I got a curt invitation to a meeting about a software project I'm involved in, an invitation with no details.  (I'm the tech person for the project, doing installation and configuration and support.  And the person who is the project manager has ditched, leaving me holding the bag.)  I went to the meeting and was ambushed with questions from 25 people.  I handled myself well, but I will not go to one of those meetings again without knowing the agenda.  I don't like bows and arrows pointed at me.   I like to be prepared, with answers shielding me.  Next time, I will decline this invitation.  And this may slow down how the progress on this project.  (Translation - this group needs to not bite the hand that feeds them.)

My company is insanely political.  I don't do office politics well.  I can't lie or suck up.  I don't keep a file on everyone I work with. Instead, I have this unreasonable expectation that I will do a good job, and if I do good work, I won't get kicked in the teeth for it.  Yes, it's crazy, I know.  But that's the kind of gal I am.

I need some time off fiercely.  Some ALONE time.  No work crap, no home crap.

And to top it off, the access to blogs at work has been severely restricted.  How dare they restrict my little bit of fun!  So I'm not reading Jane or Melissa or Martha or Heather or Jen or ANYONE until I get home.  Damn.  I mean, I need to get my snark on before lunch!  What's a girl to do?

On the home front, Curly is recovering.  His arm is very sore.  I tried to get him to hold still for a picture of his scabby arm, but he wouldn't do it.  He went to his psychologist yesterday, which is better than not going.  Now if I could take him to his psychiatrist and then force feed him his meds, we'd all feel better.  (My dad used to go off his meds periodically.  It was BAD.  I used to ask Mom if she could slip him some Zoloft in his coffee....)

And I'm mindlessly crocheting, still.  It's all my little mind can manage.  It's soothing.

Why can't I just relax?

PS This made me laugh and laugh.