It must be me. It can’t be by accident that my new job is as trying, in its own way, as Crazy Land. I now work for the State, which speaks for itself. However, just when I get a promotion and a new pal, the proverbial sky falls in. Wait. That’s too dramatic.
The manager over the department in which I work has now had four grievances filed against her. My good friend, the attorney, was the culprit. I don’t know the details of the grievances, but I do know she’s making no attempt to fight her megolamaniac tendencies. She knows all, she has her stubby fingers in all.
My immediate supervisor was just promoted over a woman who’s had experience supervising every unit this job would manage. My supervisor is in her forties, the other woman is probably in her sixties. Were I the older one, I’d have been in touch with an attorney the second I heard the news of the selection. Guess who picked. That’s right, the stubby-fingered Grand Poohbah.
Meanwhile, I have something growing in my brain. We found it months ago and now I get an mri every three months. Fortunately, I’m so beaten down generally that I’m unable to work up much anxiety about it. Oddly enough, I no longer feel anything about breast cancer developments. I do as they tell me.
