I was going to title this post "Frustration," but I decided to put a positive spin instead.
Work is nutso. The deadlines, the pressure...I am putting in ten days' work in one day. I mean, I'm working only about 45 minutes of overtime a day (not that I'm paid overtime), but I am working, near-frantically, every second I'm there. It's relentless, and it looks like this busy spell will be a long one. I don't know when the end will appear. It's difficult to explain how exhausting this is, and how it can cause bouts of what a colleague calls "publishing rage". The silver lining is that all my colleagues are in such dire straits, and hilarious bouts of punchy humor and fits of giggles seize us from time to time.
(Speaking of punchy humor.)
I want more than anything to be whisked away magically to a new job where at least all the aggravations will be new ones, but thus far, no bites on the 10 or so job applications I've sent to the various public school systems of Middlesex County. This causes a sort of relentless disappointment: At the end of each wearying day in the publishing battlegrounds, I hopefully check my cell massages and email, and...silence.
(My parents, lifelong educators, assure me this is pretty normal, that lots of positions are filled the day before school begins. Seems like madness to me.)
We also have a lovely fruitfly infestation in our kitchen. I've become a murderess, gleefully cackling over any little flies caught by their own greed in a poisonous bottle of sudsy water spiked with cider vinegar.
The Russians are STILL Coming
1 week ago