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I told those fudgepackers I liked Michael Bolton's music...
12:54 p.m., 2002-03-18
quote of the day
It is hard for thee to kick against the pricks.
what do you say?
what do you say when it's all been said, how do you feel when it's all been felt?
my boss Laura Shear is accusing me of defrauding the company. it's the kind of thing where anybody else looking at this would not think that it pointed to fraud, but that doesn't matter. that's how much power she has: all she has to do is decide she doesn't want me around anymore, all she has to say is "This looks like fraud to me" and convince HR that the company can get along without me, and I'm gone. she said she'd let me know "by the end of the day."
what makes me crazy is that I've been here before. I was going to quit every single month from August to January. the only reason I'm still here is because I took the wild gamble of seeing whether they'd be willing to let me take an extra day off per week. they agreed, so I stayed.
the part that makes me crazy is that Laura started saying nice things to me and I started to relax. she duped me into thinking I could trust her as far as I could throw her.
when I was a kid, I used to come home from school and say hello to my mother. I learned to pick up on verbal and nonverbal cues. if she were a little bit cold to me, it meant that during the day she had
searched my room and found something she didn't like
gotten a long-distance bill with a call to one of my friends on it
found one of my books on witchcraft
gotten a call from my teacher
something else to be pissed at me about.
and I would wait, and I would wait, with my heart racing and my tongue tasting like acid, for her to get around to "discussing" it with me. it would start with discussion and it would end with her shouting at me-- I don't have to tell you what; you can guess. suffice to say that whatever I had done, it wasn't because I was a kid or was misguided or because I misunderstood instructions; it was because I was a bad kid. and the worst part was that she would ask me how I could have turned out this way when she had done everything right. and there was no answer I could give her that would satisfy her, so she'd ask me again. and she wouldn't let me go until she was satisfied with my answer. and she was never satisfied.
so when I came in this morning I saw the look on the coordinator's face, I felt something strange in the air; I felt nervous when my boss asked for "five minutes of your time." and I told myself not to be paranoid, because my boss is not my mother.
but she is, she is, she is.