Stand My Ground by Within Temptations

Angry and bitter doesn't begin to describe how I feel. A slave being frelled into submission describes it best.

A month ago, my boss reprimanded me for only working my required 40 hours a week. "This isn't manufacturing where you work 8 to 5 and go home. The job requires evenings and weekends."

I get paid by salary. If I work more than 40 hours, I don't get paid.

Now I wasn't sure why this was even an issue. Even though I've carefully kept work out of my home life, I've never missed a deadline.

Then this month, my boss overbooked me, agreeing to two different groups that they could have my time. When it was discovered that the work for each project was more than expected, he didn't change the decision to put me on both projects. Instead, he hemmed and hawed and said, "Well, make the numbers work."

Each project lead told me that he had said their project was my priority. So that he can save face, he puts me in the middle of two large projects and lets me drown in them. Is this why he reprimanded me for keeping 8 to 5 hours? So that he can pile the work on me? I wonder, does he get some kind of thrill out of turning his team into little robot slaves?

I've already worked 12 hours today and have another hour or two left to go.

If this was a one day event, maybe it wouldn't be so bad, but I don't see the rest of my month looking any better. I've considered looking for other work somewhere else, but I couldn't handle the stress of job hunting and then pleasing a new boss and learning a new set of duties. My writing efforts come first.

Funny how this is the kind of thing that inspired my short story Symbiote, which was published in the YA anthology Unlocked back in August. The novel version of this story is also my NaNoWriMo project this year. Lots of fuel for the muse.

When I came home, three little girls jumped into my arms, "Mommy, see my project. Mommy, look at these decorations I made. Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!"

"Sorry, girls, but Mommy may have just gotten home from work, but Mommy has to get back to work right away." Otherwise I won't get any sleep tonight.

Yes, bitter doesn't begin to describe it.

I turned on Pandora and here was one of the first songs. I think God was trying to say something to me:



They may own my time,
but they don't own me.
They don't control my heart.
I still dream.
I will still fly.

4 comments:

  1. Rita, Rita... how can I help if you don't ask me? Don't worry. I've sent Bubba to have a word with your boss, nothing drastic, just to make him an offer he can't refuse.

    You'll be fine.

    Don Carlos

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  2. That's terrible. Is there not some body you can appeal to on your behalf?

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  3. Rita, the 'Liverpool mob' have a contract out on him. Just don't feel guilty when he internally combusts.

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  4. Ah, Rita. Horrible. I hope something good comes of those evaluations--and I hope you weren't too nice!
    Hugs!

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