Oh. My. God. So. Last week’s staff meeting with the Officer In Charge, my new boss from Santa Rosa and the Business Agent went like this. “So, Jennifer. I see that you were hired to work 25 hours and you’re working 35? Can you tell me how that happened?” Now, I couldn’t say “Yeah, fuckhead. My boss, that I miss terribly and who had a heart attack because of this stupid place, didn’t want the office to be left with no one here so he kept me on at 35 hours and had the approval of the Executive Board and everyone else, but you’re looking to “trim the budget” so now you’re revisiting this idiotic idea.” I had to say some random bullshit which really made me look like a fucking deer in the headlights. But that’s all good since I pretty much figured I was Bambi to you guys anyway. Fuckers. Frankly, I’m so tired of the politics, the ball scratching, the chess moves that make up this organization. I love the guys. They rock. It would be nice if my superiors considered THEM when they made these fantastic decisions. I don’t really mind getting my hours cut, though I wish they’d just settle in and let the office be. But no. There has to be ACTION! There has to be SOME KIND OF MOVEMENT!! They have to look good. Believe me. More time for writing? WIN! More time for my kids? WIN! More time for ME? MADE of win. The office closed in the afternoons when guys want to come in and do business? Bullshit. It’s not MY problem. Apparently, no one learned a damn thing when the credit union closed two days a week and the locals got pissy. I mean, as long as it looks good on paper, who cares about the opinion of those guys anyway? Right? Meanwhile, my fucking life is up in the air….again. Here’s a suggestion. Why not give the guys what they want? They want the Business Agent who has been taking care of their problems, going to bat for them, earning their loyalty. They don’t want someone to glad hand, scrutinize the budget so much they don’t see the big picture, or wear a fucking tie to a district meeting. Of course, why should anyone care about what a few piddly hard working guys who have somehow made a living in a place that emphasizes the “good ole boy” network? Why give the corporate logo a boost? Let’s just continue to piss everyone off and wonder why no one wants to vote the way you tell them to.
Good and bad, really. Family camp was a blast. Getting the calendar together without much input is frustrating. And it’s popcorn season. UGH. This time of year makes me NUTS. Plus, we have Fall Recruitment, tons of events and other stuff that goes on during the holiday season. It’s…insane. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Demolition Boy and School
This year we’ve started the school year sans meds. He’s in a special class and I’m fervently hoping that he will be able to function without a pharmaceutical crutch. I’m not sure how it’s going to work out and I HATE that I can’t be more on top of all of it. He’s got soccer twice a week (games on Saturday) and he’s got Scouts constantly. I’m not sure how he’s going to hold up.
After a contract dry spell that had me wondering if I was ever going to sell again, I’ve got four contracts for this year. Whew! The first of them comes out September 26th and I’m so grateful to my editors who save my ass regularly. My big hurdle is the BDSM contemporary that gives me nothing but trouble. I’m pretty excited about the four books coming out though. It’s the new writing I find difficult to pull off right now. With work, Scouting, kids and everything else, time to really buckle down is scarce. I’m not giving up though. What I do NOT need is plot bunnies. No more ideas people. I’ve got a whole file of stuff I reeeeeeally want to write. (Including four Command books, three more Marked books, four Teran books, and at least three books set at The Cage, the BDSM club owned by Dominique.) Just. Shoot. Me.
I started Weight Watchers on Monday. And bombed. Big time. For those of you who don’t know, WW assigns points to you and you “target” that number. I got to have 34 points…..and used up 63. *groans* I’m trying to adjust, but there’s a reason I got this way, so we’ll see how it goes. Ranch dressing may kill me in the long run.