It's just been confirmed that I absolutely must use paid leave for the hour I was late to work this morning, and it was told to me with such a lack of tact that I just about up and quit. That would have been a really stupid thing to do, and so I didn't do it. But oh, what powerful hormone-filled rage I experienced! Definitely mad enough to spit. I'm a pregnant lady with righteous indignation burning in my bosom and don't you forget it!
Now I am sitting myself down and trying to calm myself down and think of something happy. It's harder than it sounds. So far the only thing that's working is the promise that I can sleep in on Saturday. Sleeping is good. Somebody from our head office called and complimented me on my phone manners, that's good too. I have approximately 89 days left of working here, 178 commutes. If 40% of them are bad(70 min +), and 18% of them are horrid (90 min+) and 2% of them are inexcusable (110 min +... leaving 40% to be a fair 50-70 minutes), then I have about 191 hours of commuting to and from this job left (starting tomorrow). Seeing as how I have already commuted well over 1,000 hours, I should be rejoicing in the down-hill-from-here-edness.
Somehow my rejoicing is a little lackluster.
Lacking Luster.
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