Adrenaline is such a fickle thing. It can so easily transfer from ecstasy to fury, as I know from past incidents and am experiencing again. Right now.
I told myself I wouldn't rant and rave in this blog, because I wanted to keep it rather... not lighthearted, just perhaps maybe a tad less personal, less burdening and more uplifting. Well, fuck that. Any self-imposed rules just got pitched out the window because brother, let me tell you, I AM PISSED OFF.
My Christmas Eve is ruined. No, this is not an melodramatic statement. Backtrack to a few weeks ago, when I call in to schedule at work (i.e., tell them when I'm coming home and what I can work if there are any restrictions). They tell me that my manager already HAS the schedule done... days ahead of time. Ooook. That kind of blows. So I write down my hours and realize that I'm scheduled for Christmas Eve day, 11-8:40. Since we close at 8 tomorrow - well, tonight, I suppose - this is a ten hour closing shift. Not only does that SUCK, but I always, always, always sing on Christmas Eve in the church choir, and THEN to top it off I rush over to the local V.F.W. to participate in my stepfamily's Christmas Eve dinner (something that almost tries to be the feast of seven fishes, and is always quite delicious). Alan and I are always a little late due to church, but after the dinner we head back to our stepgrandparents' for some gift-opening.
Now, my manager and I fight about this EVERY single GODDAMNED mother freaking year. Every year, like something is going to change about my Christmas Eve routine. She insists I can go to a different church service, that it's not fair I always request off, and I tell her that no, I can't, and no, it isn't, because she KNOWS I always come in for every shit shift she schedules me for. One night is NOT too much to ask for. Well, she went on with her jolly good self and put me on, ho-ho-ho. Funny lady. Do you know how impossible it is to get people to cover your shift on Christmas Eve? I finally had a guy say he'd probably be able to take it - he'd text me and let me know, but he was pretty sure. Suuuuuuuuuuuure he will. He's beaten around the bush with it the last three days and today he's just not answering me at all. Suck it up, grow a set and at least tell me know, you douchebag. I'd be a little less unhappy with you if you weren't being such an ass about the whole ordeal.
I can't call off because I need the hours and well it's Christmas Eve. They'd kill me. And then write me up and maybe fire me.
So, looks like I'm working. All day. By the time I get out it'll be 9, and the only thing I'll want is a shower so God knows if I'll even go anywhere for gifts.
Ho-ho-ho. Merry mother fucking Christmas to me.
I am so insanely pissed right now, you have no idea.
It's really quite sad, not only my predicament for tomorrow, but that tonight had to be ruined like this. Otherwise, I had a fan-fucking-tastic time at the Pens game with Sam. Which I'll maybe talk about later, but it ain't happenin' now. I'm way too upset to try to recapture my enjoyment of the game right now.
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