How come it never rains...
We had a meeting this afternoon with the Grand High Chief Poobah of our organisation. Lots of pontificating and talking round the real issue…which is, in a nutshell, that the location I work at is closing.
It was on the cards really – anywhere that costs £1200 per month just to heat is never really going to be financially viable. Factor in the lighting, the council tax, the staffing and the ongoing maintenance (think painting the Forth Bridge while being followed along by delinquent pixies with sledgehammers, flamethrowers and Very Bad Tempers) and it’s no surprise that the place is lovingly referred to as the Money Pit.
So. I still have a job, it’s just that I don’t know where it will be. Best-case I have until September where I am. Worst-case I have maybe three weeks. Whatever happens, at some point this year I lose the luxury of working somewhere a ten minute** cycle ride from my house.
The problems are, as I see them:
1) I don’t have a car
2) I don’t have any money
3) Wherever I end up, it is going to be out of cycling distance***
4) I will lose some of my current before/after school time with Small Person
5) This sucks
6) I am resistant to change, in any form
7) This sucks
8) I love my job and don’t want a new one
Isn’t it a bugger?
Thing of it is, I do love my job. I can’t imagine going back to working in a dull, bitchy office****. I love the fact that what I do makes a difference (if moving pieces of paper in triplicate to various locations counts as making a difference, that is. Shut up). And even if I got a New Job, all the above problems would still be manifest. I have been spoiled rotten for the last six months and I don’t want it to change.
Also, I woke up with the word “otiose” resonating in my head this morning. This is odd, as it isn’t a word I am familiar with. On researching the definition, however, it turned into one of those story-of-my-life moments. Even my subconscious is fed up with me.
* I hope the Other Half can tell me what song this is from. Driving me mad, it is.
**Alright, fifteen minutes. It takes up valuable breathing time, all that swearing about how I hate cycling.
*** This is, of course, anything more than a mile and a half away. I could get there, but there’s no guarantee I could make it home again. Have I mentioned that cycling sucks?
**** Around here, I do the bitching. And I like it this way.