Tags

, , ,

time clock

Today I am at work, and it fucking kills me.  FUCK WORK.  I hate the fact that I am the primary bread winner and I have to go to work because the whole household is balancing on my shoulders.  So today Mr. Wonderful is taking my dog, K, into the Veteranian surgeon, to have a consult about the lump on his head.  K is a German Shepherd mix and the most common tumor is the Hemanigosarcoma, basically a cancer of the blood vessels, and in most cases by the time you realize anything is wrong, your dog’s spleen explodes, and they die in front of you. How nice is that?

I hate work, I hate the fact that I cannot take off anytime because then I will use up my ETO (earned time off) days and I will not have any for vacation, sick days, etc.  I hate the fact that I cannot be there today.  I hate the fact that Mr W and I are fighting constantly, and I just want to give up.  I am so fucking tired of life.  WHY is everything so fucking hard, all the time???!?!?!?!?!!??!!

Walking into work this AM  before 7, and I run into another co-worker, V.  “Nine more years” V lets slip out of her mouth.   I turn at look at her puzzled, sipping on my coffee. ” I can retire in 9 more years” says V. “So what is the retirement age?” I ask trying to walk faster to punch in before the time clock clicks to 7:01am. “67, is what I am shooting for, it gives you the most benefits” V says, while fitting her key into her office door.  “67” I repeat, headed towards my office to put my stuff down.  I enter my ultrasound room, turn on the machine, the TV monitor and the computer.  I grab my coffee cup and head towards the break room and the time clock.  V is already making the office coffee when I push through the break room door. “17 years” I say.  V looks up confused “17 years and 6 weeks until I can retire.  Well Fuck me” comes out of mouth.  V nods her head, pours her coffee, and heads back to her office.  I am there in the break room, watching the clear coffee pot fill with the brown/black liquid.  My phone’s alarm goes off and I head toward the time clock.  I punch in my ID number, and press my pointer finger on the scanner.  Three beeps go off, as I say “17 more years”