My Don't-Give-A-Fuck

(This will make a little more since if you read this, and maybe this.)

Has turned into downright mutiny.

I-don't-wanna, I-ain't-gonna, You-can't-make-me, Just-fire-me-already, Caine-style M.U.T.I.N.Y.

We got a game plan e-mail today. I have to be at work two hours earlier than usual on Monday, at freaking 8:30 in the morning on Tuesday and Wednesday, ad then at 2 "until further notice."

The 8:30 days are for training purposes. Watch me and my subversion. Just you watch.

I don't want to "learn" a "new" way of doing things, just so we can revert back to the old in six to eight weeks. I don't want to listen to that balding bitch-witch babble on and on about inconsequential, bureaucratic bullshit at 8:30 in the effing morning for four effing hours.

I have never felt such animosity for a job, or a boss, in my life.

Urg, grr, grumble, piss, moan, dig in the heels, and then beat the fists on the floor.

(And no, I can't just quit and move back to Houston tomorrow. I have a freaking lease.)
(did I mention I'm moving back in with my parents in August. Parents and batshit-fucking insane sister. Joy and rapture.)