All my archived photos. Years worth of carefully sorted stuff... Blah! I'm pissed, and Jeff doesn't want to pursue it, which means I'm stuck with the situation, and that makes me even more mad.
So all my grand plans of moving my Yahoo 360 blog over here are shelved until I have space for my pictures.
Well, not to mention time.
Yesterday my mother-in-law and I baked - I shit you not - 470 + cookies. This is our annual Christmas "Give-cookies-as-presents" cookie blowout, where the spatula meets the bowl, where the going gets tough and the tough warm up their fuel-injected, turbo KitchenAid stand mixers...
Ladies and Gentlemen, start your mixers. Seriously, you DO NOT want to mix dough for 400 cookies without some kind of mechanical aid. Nobody has arms that butch, and if they did, they'd wish they didn't.
Work has just been getting more and more busy - my boss came into my cube the other day and said, "I'm assigning you as account manager to two new publishers. I also want you to help out one of the other ladies with two of her accounts. Oh, and this won't add to your workload."
She didn't even have the decency to frame it as a question: "Oh, Ericka, I'm not inconveniencing you, am I? This won't unduly burden you, will it?"
I don't hate my job. I really don't. I'm still okay with Mondays. The commute is livable. I like everyone I work with - well, all the regular everyday joe's, anyway.
My days are overall tolerable; it's the crushing burden of way too much work for way too few people that depresses the snot out of me and makes me want to run screaming. It's the fact that we need five more people and we're only getting three. It's the fact that we just keep contracting with more and more publishers without the corresponding benefit of adding more people to do the work.
But on the positive side, I can take the light rail to work, and with a little fortitude, I can tell my boss that I'm not her, I don't know what she knows, and it takes me much longer to do the work than it takes her. Which I did, and got her to understand that I needed more time on a project I got committed to do. I know most of my co-workers can't do this, though, and I shudder to think of the amounts of stress they're dealing with. I have medical benefits, my family and I have a roof over our heads, we have food on the table, etc etc etc... Lots of etc's. I guess I'm stuck here for a while.
So, gotta do the Christmas cards today, and I have 100 gingerbread men to bake. The dough for THOSE almost burnt out my commercial-strength KitchenAid - should've used the dough hook. Gingerbread is easily one of the heaviest doughs going.
Laundry is in progress, I need to clear off the kitchen table to roll out the dough, and I have to make dinner. I've got to plan for tomorrow, get Elise a bath, and probably, before it gets dark, I have to go grocery shopping.
And just thinking about all that is exhausting.
Gotta go - duty calls, or perhaps more accurately, a sense of appalling urgency calls... You know, that dreadful spine-tingly feeling you get when you can sense all kinds of hell breathing down your neck, and you know it's already too late to run? Yah. That feeling. I leave you with one of my favorite "I Can Has Cheezburger" pictures:
More I Can Has Cheezburger
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