eware – this one is
going to be a diatribe.
It’s even worse than it was going to be, too – I was going to put some
finishing touches on yesterday’s entry, concerning how boring my weekend
was, but the floppy disk it was on choked, sputtered and died. I’ve decided
not to even try to rewrite it, because – well, I’ve had so much more fun
since then.
I think our company is going to die. Three people admitted today that
they are looking for other jobs, and I would bet that many others aren’t
far behind. I’ve finally had enough of the way they do things here. It
seems like the people in charge make the wrong decision every time they
possibly can. The way they solve problems here is like trying to fix a
broken arm with a Band-Aid. So, among a couple of other positions that
I'm looking at, I’ve also signed up with a headhunter. I’m not playing
around anymore. I’m sick of being treated like, as a co-worker (and commiserator)
put it today, "an indentured servant". My plan is to leave in early spring,
right when our project gets into full steam, right after my annual bonus
kicks in.
Speaking of filth and vermin, this morning, I woke up, walked into the
bathroom, and was just about to turn on the shower when I noticed a bug
the size of an armadillo sitting contentedly in the tub. We’ve had problems
with these creatures that they call "waterbugs" out here, which is a nicer
way of saying that they are disgusting roaches that are too stupid to actually
find food, so they just hang out in the bathroom instead. Anyway,
after I yelled "Holy crap!" I started chasing it around the tub with a
shaving cream can. They say that roaches are one of the hardiest
creatures on earth, and I believe it. Somehow, in the split second
that it took to bring the can down, it scurried completely under the can,
hiding beneath the recessed bottom. (Now remember, this thing was
almost as big as the can in the first place.) It took five or six
tries to smash the thing and flush it down the toilet into bug heaven.
My wife is now afraid to take a shower, and wears her shoes every time
she goes to the bathroom. Such is life in Califronia.
Oh, I know it could be worse. We could live further inland, where
I've heard people mention "black widow" or "scorpion" or "rattlesnake"
and "my house" in the same sentence. But I'd much rather contend
with the bugs of Pennsylvania, where the only real problem is occasional
ants, and maybe once a year you'll see a centipede scurry up the wall,
and then all is well with the world.
I'm kind of fed up with everything right now. I can't even wake
up without some major catastrophe happening. Today, is was the bug;
yesterday, I must have smacked the alarm in my sleep because I didn't wake
up until 9:00 (nobody at work even noticed I was late, though). My
biggest fear is that things will never get any better, that I'm doomed
to spend my life in a dead-end job and an infested apartment. I know
I'm supposed to believe that "all things work together for good," but it's
hard when half of the puzzle pieces are hiding somewhere.
