Today the phone has been ringing non-stop. "My VUView doesn't work right." "I can't remember how to install Notes, or why we have to." "Hi, Momma - how's your day?" "Why can't I open an e-card here?" "What do you mean, no more stationery in Outlook?! You can't do that!" Au contraire, mon ami - I can most certainly suggest it. If people don't get your mail anymore because it appears to be sending a .jpeg, which might be infected, don't come whining to me. I told you so. If people start ignoring your email because they can't friggin' read dark blue print on a purple background, don't come whining to me. I reserve the right to tell you I think you're an idiot. So between the e-mails, the phone calls, the piddly-assed problems - I'm trying very hard to remember that I love my job. No, really - I do. Honestly. Wouldn't lie about that, no sir. Love it.
I've never been good with expressing emotions. I always felt that emotions were a sign of weakness - part of being raised as my father's "son", I suppose. Lately I'm having a hard time bottling up those things that bubble up when people start flinging arrows and stones. Some I deserve. Others, less so. Innocent comments get taken out of context and used to further some cause. I make a genuine post about an overwhelming feeling I have, and someone turns it into an accusation, based on some sort of internet statistic that proves I've posted in response to something else. Frankly, I don't see the connection. I get angry more often than I used to, but I often feel like I've been kicked in the gut too. I'm not accustomed to that one. It usually brings tears. Intended kindnesses are perceived as attempts to control. And this post will be labeled as an attempt to send someone on a guilt trip - but hey - if the shoe fits, baby, wear it out.
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