The Next Day ...

... so apparently Lance went in, guns blazin' ready to fight for me. Which apparently rubbed them the wrong way and caused the managers to attack HIM and then chastize ME for, get this, not "communicating properly." Lance laid it all out there, though - he told everyone about my depression, my health problems, and even my pipe dreams of leaving the store. Those were things that I kept inside, things I never wanted out in the open. Now they know and I'm left feeling like a Wayans brother at a Klu Klux Klan rally. Apparently the general concensus amongst the managers was "Well, if he's so upset then why didn't he tell us this before now?" as if I've NEVER complained EVER about spending two years as the store's ONLY kids person.

I'm left feeling angry and ashamed. I'm angry because I know, I just KNOW, that nothing's going to come of all this, nothing's going to change, and things will remain exactly the same at work. No changes. And I'm ashamed because I never wanted to stir shit. I like my co-workers and my job and my storytimes and my clubs and I like the majority of the managers. I never wanted to get anybody in trouble or stir any shit or be the cause of any drama. Now I feel like the managers are looking at me funny, those that are even looking me in the eyes, that is. Some managers were overly friendly and others seemed to purposely avoid me like I had the wetback plague or something.

Whatever. Jesse's right. I have to take my job less seriously. That's depressing but neccessary. My job isn't allowing me to do my job the way it should be done. Is that MY fault? No. It's my job's fault. And if I can't do my job the way it should be done then I need to stop screaming at a brick wall and start focusing my attentions on other things that are worth getting emotional over.

My thirtieth birthday is on March 22nd. I might be spending it in Phoenix. We'll see ...