Mindful-fun-da-mentals

Explorations of mind, paths, and life

On Strike

Posted on February 17, 2013 - Filed Under 2013, daily life, frustration, Photography, work

It’s late, and I just got home from dancing at Zendah and started down the rabbit hole or reading the creative efforts of others online, wondering, LUSHIOUSLY, about the creaking creative tickle I have had the last two weeks. My camera has moved from her dusty spot on the floor near her camera bag, into the back seat of my car. She sits like a neglected puppy, smiling at me when I happen to glance back at the floor. She is begging me to pick her up and do something. Instead, I have grabbed my paint, or my dance shoes, and plotted a course of doing some-other-things. But, I am aware of her back there, waiting.

I have gone on a psychological strike, feeling tremendous resistance to giving, giving, giving – except where it isn’t asked for. At work, on Friday, I announced my position.

“I’m on strike!”

“What, really? (eyes wide, but skeptical) So can you ******* for me?”

“Nope, I’m sorry… strike.” (I smirk)

(Forlorn face – a pat on my shoulder) “I hope you change your mind on Monday.”

“I’ll think about it…”

 

I even left work 15 WHOLE minutes before my NORMAL overtime.

And let me just say, whether I like it or not, I put in an additional week each month in drive time alone… I answer calls, check email, discuss school issues on the drive, but NONE of that counts for the 9 hour work day (nine hours, because I am supposed to take a lunch, but secretly keep eating at my desk while I work, hoping that I can count 1 hour of drive time and leave an hour earlier.) So, 9 hours a week, plus 2 hours a day of driving, equals NO TIME to get things done during regular business hours…

And tomorrow is Presidents day. All my friends are talking up plans about what to do on their day off. I stare at my calendar – and work is written all over it. F**K! I am going on strike tomorrow! Except, someone has to feed Napoleon (the fish). He has been in the dark all weekend, and probably feeling quite starved. Maybe I will make him a picket sign and the two of us will announce our strike. Write a letter of demands. Ask people to honk if they support overworked single mom’s who give too much.

• I want to see some movement in my position at work. I am doing way more than my job description – so let’s get things in alignment, eh?
• I want the kind of raise that isn’t in place of paying for expenses (when all the locals get a raise that isn’t eaten by GAS), or a raise that isn’t eaten by the January 2013 increase in Social Security
• I want 4 ten-hour days at least twice a month so I can get shit done during business hours!
• I would appreciate it if my creative ideas aren’t teased (yeah, they end up using them, but I am getting tired of the playful banter about my goofy ideas – give my creative soul a little more support people, or she will eventually STFU!)
• I am not your therapist. For god’s sake, just because I have a masters in mental health – marriage & family, does not make me the expert of ridiculous workplace drama! It’s not in my job description.
• Mind your own damn business. I wish I had a little light up sign on my badge that blinked obnoxiously, like an annoying rainbow banner ad, and instead of saying “Your A Winner,”  blurts “Mind your own business!” It would go off immediately when it sensed an increase in my breathing, when my head snaps around to look at the person interjecting, or when it hears my brain whisper, “Seriously, are you kidding me?” All those symptoms occur regularly in my shared office.
• A little credit please? My workplace has an occasional corporate email that goes out with Kudos to all the people who have impressed the crowd at our Parent company. I, however, work  incognito – since I am often doing the kinds of things that HELP us, but are not under the scrutiny of the higher-ups. Yet, all that work and I again, as IS my work-life karma, get a pat on the back with a “good job, Evelyn” that doesn’t quite celebrate the successes I have helped to nurture. I sometimes would appreciate a Kudos.

I think Napoleon would agree. He figures he might get more than blood-worms if I had a little more oomph in my paycheck for the teenagers impending college adventure. He might be right. We are making our signs tomorrow!

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