What a difference a day makes.

A few hours, even.

I'm hanging out at the "laundromat".  "Laundromat" is in quotations because i'm in my basement.  The washer is going full speed in what would be (if there were walls down here instead of just support beams) the next room over.  Jimi and I are lounging in the "living room" section of this level - the room next to the laundry room, where he's established a guitar practice area.  He's got his big amp, his guitars, a little iron/wood table he got from a co-worker for $15, and the two folding chairs that started their lives as my $30 Meijer specials that were the seating spaces in my "den" when I was living in Kimmie's upstairs.  In their lifetimes, they've also been the sweet outdoor chairs that went perfectly around the cut drum that was the fire pit in the backyard we adored over on Camp Street.  Now they're the downstairs chairs, and they're perfect.  I'm lounged back, with my feet propped on the table, my fruity vodka drink next to me (and it's totally okay if I spill it...the floor is concrete!).

On this side of two drinks, the world is much rosier.

And I talked to my Momma.  For almost an hour, but then my phone died.  Again.  I ordered a new battery today, but it'll probably be weeks before I get it.  Oh well.  Maybe i'll miss a few 2 a.m. phone calls.

I'm not going to quit my job.  Obviously.  I can't.  I can't make this much money somewhere else, not in this economy, not without a college degree.  I won't have these benefits.  I won't have this much vacation time (not that I get to take any amount of vacation time at any one time - two days, max, and that should be around a weekend, if possible, so the person who has to cover for me has the least amount of work possible to contend with.)  I won't have these awesome co-workers, or this awesome dress code, or that fantastic office dog, or the ability to take my puppy to work when the boss's dog isn't there.

i can't quit my job.

That fact makes my stomach hurt.

But I have a job.  A damn good one.  With great benefits and amazing perks.

Maybe the problem isn't the job.  Maybe it's my attitude.

Maybe I should have to work 60 hours a week.  Maybe if I do, I'll not have to do it forever.  Maybe if I work in the evenings or go in earlier or maybe put in a few hours on a Saturday (gasp!), maybe my job won't suck quite so much.  Maybe I'll get some shit caught up and maybe it'll make things easier in the long run.

And maybe if I stop trying to be everyone's fucking BFF, I'll get some good managing in, too.  Maybe people will start to respect me when they understand i'm not fucking around anymore and this is what i need and this is what i'll make happen for you in return. Maybe if I put in a few extra hours here and there, and didn't bitch about it the entire time, maybe I could arrange to finally have that stupid effing driver's meeting i've been talking about for an effing year, and maybe then, at that time, i'd be able to look these guys in the face and say THIS IS WHAT I NEED FROM YOU, DO IT OR GO AWAY and maybe my voice would shake a little, but i know i could do it, i could say those words and stand firm.  i could be a leader.

And maybe then they'd turn in their paperwork on time and not bitch when i tell them they have to live load this next pickup and maybe i'd finally feel like i'm doing my fucking job.

I'm sorry if you're offended by the "F" word.  Sometimes it just feels better to use it.  Sometimes it's just the only word that can get my point across.  Yes, I really am just that passionate about certain ridiculous things.

So yeah.  That's what I'm going to do.  I'm going to work tomorrow, at 7, with a new attitude.  The attitude that a 10 hour day is what it takes to get it done.  The attitude that I can do my job, and do it well, if only i make the time.  Even if that means cutting into my personal time now.  It will mean more personal time in the future, and that future will be sooner rather than later if I choose this new path over my current "bitch about it and hope something changes" strategy, which is failing me miserably and making me crazy with hate for my job.

And again, having a job, right now, today, is no small thing.  It's kind of a big deal.  And my salary?  Did I mention I don't have a college degree?

Anyone who's ever heard me bitch about my job should probably have smacked my face.

So that's what I'm going to do.

Thanks, Vodka!

(Oh, and Jimi, of course, for making this awesome laundromat in the basement.  If we get a  Police Trainer video game and bring down the TV, it'll be the best laundromat ever.)