I skived off work today. I often joke about calling in sick, but this is the first time I’ve done it at this job without a genuine reason for doing so. I was supposed to be there at 8am, but I got rather drunk last night at the Fireworks event and didn’t fancy turning out early. So I put on my ‘sore throat voice’ and left a message on the ansaphone at 6am today. I’ll probably get hauled into the office and moaned at and questioned like a terror suspect again but I really don’t care anymore. I would almost welcome a Final Warning. I’m sick of the place. After chatting to Sophie and Tamara last week I’m even thinking of changing career and getting into care work. The hours are as unsociable as the supermarket but at least I’d feel like I’m doing someone some good. The economy might be on it’s knees and companies may be laying people off left right and centre but there’ll always be old folk around who need their bums wiped. I took a look in the Job Section of our local newspaper today and about 70% of the positions advertised were in care work. So I might even have a choice of where and when I work, rather than being tied into a Mucked-Up Rotating Management Shift Pattern that I have no control over or input into.
I’m feeling unappreciated and unfulfilled and unsatisfied and I’m fed up with feeling this way about my work life.
I need paracetamol now.
RC 6-11-12
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