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mallorys_cameraI could not figure out why I’ve been feeling so terrible.
Yes, people suck, and the Extinction Event cannot come soon enough, but of course, that was true last week as well, and last week, I felt perfectly jolly.
Yes, poor Beau, but of course, I haven’t spent much time around Beau in the past 25 years or so.
###
Late yesterday, it finally dawned on me: It’s the National Counting Project that’s harshing my mellow.
Every day, I get emails from National Counting Project Central in Washington, D.C., begging me to enumerate more people for an ever-escalating cash bounty! This is because the Powers That Be in their infinite wisdom have decided to lop a whole month off the National Counting Project’s actual counting.
Meanwhile, it’s been a week now, and the National Counting Project still hasn’t issued me useable equipment.
Every morning I call that insane IT hotline.
Every morning the insane IT hotline’s mailbox is full.
There is absolutely no one I can reach out to, say, Help me with this, please.
My field supervisor has stopped answering my texts. Did he quit? Did he decide that I’m too annoying?
By some strange psychological alchemy, the fact that no one is available to help me with this problem makes the problem my fault. Cue Chris Isaak:
I’d been telling myself, It will resolve when it resolves.
And if it doesn’t resolve, no skin off my ass: I signed up for the job because I actually had fun doing it back in 2010.
But there is every indication that I will not have fun doing it in 2020.
It is just this increasingly Kafka-esque take on your basic Clusterfuck.
Patience and waiting for all things to reveal themselves in the fullness of time have never been my strong suits, so it’s making me anxious. Additional sources of anxiety beyond the usual When will I catch coronavirus and die an agonizing and terrible death? and What kind of life will my poor children lead in the New Normal? are not things I want to deal with or should have to deal with.
Should I give it a couple more days?
Or should I just resign?
Thing is, I wouldn’t even know how to resign.
I don’t even know who to turn the defective equipment in to while snarling, Shove this up your ass!
Your tax dollars at work!
###
You’d think figuring out that I can blame the National Counting Project for my angst would make me feel better, but it hasn’t.
Life still seems very pointless, very grim.
And somehow—again, that weird psychological alchemy—it’s my fault.
I have Social Encounters with Real Live Human Beings lined up this week. That should improve my mood. But honestly, I’m feeling so whacked that I’m not even sure I can do Social Encounters with Real Live Human Beings. I’m afraid all I can do is snivel.
It is all too much.
Yes, people suck, and the Extinction Event cannot come soon enough, but of course, that was true last week as well, and last week, I felt perfectly jolly.
Yes, poor Beau, but of course, I haven’t spent much time around Beau in the past 25 years or so.
###
Late yesterday, it finally dawned on me: It’s the National Counting Project that’s harshing my mellow.
Every day, I get emails from National Counting Project Central in Washington, D.C., begging me to enumerate more people for an ever-escalating cash bounty! This is because the Powers That Be in their infinite wisdom have decided to lop a whole month off the National Counting Project’s actual counting.
Meanwhile, it’s been a week now, and the National Counting Project still hasn’t issued me useable equipment.
Every morning I call that insane IT hotline.
Every morning the insane IT hotline’s mailbox is full.
There is absolutely no one I can reach out to, say, Help me with this, please.
My field supervisor has stopped answering my texts. Did he quit? Did he decide that I’m too annoying?
By some strange psychological alchemy, the fact that no one is available to help me with this problem makes the problem my fault. Cue Chris Isaak:
I’d been telling myself, It will resolve when it resolves.
And if it doesn’t resolve, no skin off my ass: I signed up for the job because I actually had fun doing it back in 2010.
But there is every indication that I will not have fun doing it in 2020.
It is just this increasingly Kafka-esque take on your basic Clusterfuck.
Patience and waiting for all things to reveal themselves in the fullness of time have never been my strong suits, so it’s making me anxious. Additional sources of anxiety beyond the usual When will I catch coronavirus and die an agonizing and terrible death? and What kind of life will my poor children lead in the New Normal? are not things I want to deal with or should have to deal with.
Should I give it a couple more days?
Or should I just resign?
Thing is, I wouldn’t even know how to resign.
I don’t even know who to turn the defective equipment in to while snarling, Shove this up your ass!
Your tax dollars at work!
###
You’d think figuring out that I can blame the National Counting Project for my angst would make me feel better, but it hasn’t.
Life still seems very pointless, very grim.
And somehow—again, that weird psychological alchemy—it’s my fault.
I have Social Encounters with Real Live Human Beings lined up this week. That should improve my mood. But honestly, I’m feeling so whacked that I’m not even sure I can do Social Encounters with Real Live Human Beings. I’m afraid all I can do is snivel.
It is all too much.
no subject
Date: 2020-08-10 06:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-08-10 09:37 pm (UTC)But then, when I got there, they said, "Why are you quitting?" and replaced the broken equipment.
The Universe is toying with me.
no subject
Date: 2020-08-10 08:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-08-10 09:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-08-11 05:43 am (UTC)I honestly believe it's OK to snivel.
no subject
Date: 2020-08-11 04:59 pm (UTC)