Bramble Tamble

Still waiting for that magic phone call.

I interviewed last Friday for a financial/project management position that they're creating in our main office. The field is stronger than previously thought, and my confidence level has dipped. The prospect of spending any more time than absolutely necessary in my current position really puts a drag on my outlook.

It's not Christian of me to say so, but I hate Doom with the white-hot intensity of a thousand suns, hate being pushed around and in a position where I can't really do anything about it because it will show up on my performance eval (and contractors don't have the same protections as federal employees), hate not being able to get into a groove in my day-to-day chores here because I'm constantly being called into his office for stupid shit, whether it's to watch him peck letters out on his keyboard to compose one of his dumbass e-mails or being asked to do something that he *just asked* someone else to do also. His management style sucks, his interpersonal skills are non-existent, and I'm just tired of being on constant red alert for whatever new crisis crosses his desk. I can't handle it anymore, which is too bad, because one of the reasons that I was such a perfect fit for the job in the first place was my ability to handle assholes and A-type personalities and colossal dickwads like him.

So I wait. Wait for the magic phone call I alluded to in the opening of this post that will whisk me away to - well, if not greener pastures, per se, at least not so shit-riddled. And if that doesn't work ... hell, I'll just poop in his bag. Hasn't seemed to harm Randy Orton's career.