November 19th, 2004

children of dune - leto 1


My zen apparently is a game on called Shapeshifter. Something like that. Unfortunately, now every time I play it, I immediately start recalling Bound, and it's just weird, since the game is actually not violent at all.

Three days of class next week, then Thanksgiving, then I go back to my home office. Since I left, my Worker IV C has left, and now another chick is leaving about a week after I arrive. Missy is applying for other jobs. *Everyone* is applying for other jobs. There are people who have not been hired by us yet applying for other jobs on the speculation they will one day work for us and wnat to get an early start.

That makes no *sense*. But neither does my office. Now that I have that third program under my belt, they are, brilliantly, moving me up to seven cases a day.

I just learned *the most complex welfare program in the country*, perhaps only rivaled by SSI. I was doing *six cases* a day before, and just getting them done. Now that I have to add *a third program* to interiew for, they are moving me to seven.

You know, a cardboard box sounds good. I could totally live with that, my computer, and stealing phone lines from people to read and write porn. That could totally be my life's work. Job? Bah. I can live on crusts of bread.


Hmm. This could totally be my crazy thing. My sisters have Big Life Shaking Drama. One had an affair with massively dramatic reprecussions, the other up and moved states with her boyfriend and now lives near mountains. Me? I have a regular job. And disposable income. And apparently, am very respectable now if you don't know about the porn thing, which some do but pretend hard that they don't. It's weird. Frankly, of the three of us, I was the most likely to end up with her throat slit in a back alley thing gone wrong. Or conversely, living in sin in some distant place with no running water. No, not my Tarzan fantasy, either.

Anyone have a Crazy Suggestion for me to implement? I mean, for afterwork hours. I have a sneaking suspicion that my usual passive-aggressive thing at work is going to start wearing down and I'll start crying randomly in the halls.

You know, it's just occuring to me, while I remember what Missy's said about the state of the office, that this might not be my life's work. I can deal with being organized, efficient, careful, and compassionate, and I love to know I'm helping people every day. I'm not sure, however, that I can deal with a state organization that is trying to drive all of its employees insane or to suicide from impossible expectations of what we are capable of.

I should get a tattoo. Dye my hair blonde. Something.