Manual Labor

A short break from the cruise pictures...

We're in the final weeks of packing up my old boss.  He has to be out of the office by next Friday.  To say I'm sick of boxes, sick of packing and unpacking, is an understatement.  I've moved homes four times in the last six years.  I'm tired of the entire process.  So, it's a bit of an insult to have to do it at work.  I didn't sign on for this.

On Tuesday, I came to work, opened my office door, and found my entire floor covered in old files, meant to be recycled.  I'd told my boss not to worry about the recycling, that I'd take care of it.  I did not mean for it to be discarded so haphazardly that I couldn't get to my desk, let alone pull out the chair.  I threw a minor tantrum, kicking the papers across the room and cursing.  Thankfully, only the custodians were here to hear me.  One of the nice ladies came to get my trash and asked about the papers.  When I told her, she said, "I'm sorry for you."  So am I.  So...am....I.

I'm trying to not think of moving the new boss in, later this summer.  I'm really trying to not think of the remodeling that's supposed to take place for our building in a few years.  Good grief!  

I want to do the work I'm meant to be doing at work.  Not manual labor.