On June

And so hell begins.

At dinner with Steph and Jess on Saturday, Steph and I agreed that we ought to be paid overtime for our work-related nightmares. It's either that, or worker's comp, and it's only fair, damnit.

I get the sense that I'll be having a number of such nightmares this month, as the Foundation approaches fiscal year-end. We're understaffed and underpaid, and we're all majorly over-worked. Relief comes in the form of a new coworker on June 7, but she won't be able to do much until we've got her trained – and THAT won't happen until July at the earliest. And then, it'll still take her at least 6 months to get up to speed, and then another 6 months after that to be good. And of course, she'll have very little support, other than what we can provide her, until then.

This place is such a bitch.

At least personal dramas are at a minimum, for the moment. I don't have any pressing issues of my own, but I've been playing therapist and Shoulder to Cry On for a number of others for a little while now. That load is lightening, I guess you could say, but that's not necessarily a good thing. I feel oddly as though I've lost F.'s trust for the moment; I think she'll come back, but for the time being, she's keeping me at arm's length. Like I said, that lifts a bit of weight off my shoulders, but it adds on weight of a different sort. I think I'd prefer having the former.

But I suppose I shouldn't complain. I'm looking at the bright side of life, right? I have my health. I have a job. I have good friends. I have fun. I'm not entirely happy, but I'm fairly content. I have beer in the fridge and Jack in the cabinet. Really, I've got nothing all that bad to gripe about.

I should go buy some Coke.