trolls

Ever since I found out that I was losing my funding, my job has been a clusterf*** of business managers and voicemails and administrative assistants and paperwork and training and grants. I'm thrilled to be employed, but I have had to fight tooth and nail for this shit.

I thought I had finally worked everything out about a month ago, when I weaseled my way onto another grant so that I could be gainfully employed until my new job is effective when I come back from maternity leave. There was just this little problem with getting paid. Or not getting paid in my case. Some hosebeast in charge of doing the paperwork has been draggin' her feet, so I have been working for free for this grant for about a month now. She finally got around to it Friday. Just in time for me to get a letter saying I had been denied FMLA benefits because I didn't have enough hours in the last year to qualify.

W. T. F.

So because some jaded pencil pushing troll couldn't be bothered with emailing my business manager an account number (yes, that's all she had to do), I have been denied an additional six weeks of job protection. And apparently admin and HR are immune to sobbing pregnant ladies and snarky emails. Bureaucracy and red tape shall not be rushed.

Nothing has sent me into a rage more often during this pregnancy than trying to figure out FMLA benefits. You'd think that I'd have a pretty good handle on it, considering I'm getting a Master's in Public Health with a concentration in Maternal and Child Health (someone should complain to my program director; I really should know this stuff). Apparently the first six weeks after you have a baby is just to guarantee you've had enough time to practice not pissing yourself in public following the assault on your nether regions. The next six weeks are just for additional "bonding." Nevermind breastfeeding. That's not important. And nevermind that "bonding" increases self-efficacy in new mothers, decreasing the incidence of postpartum depression and improving future secure adult attachment in their new infant. It's really only for people who can afford to stay home and engage in self-indulgent baby snuggling. Thank you federal government. Thank you for indulging the selfish whims of new moms. But only selfish moms who have worked a collective 1250 hours in the 52 weeks prior to pushing out the baby.

Anyway, as it turns out, my hours will count retroactively, so as soon as the HR leprechauns give the account parchments their blessing, I'll be eligible for the full 12 weeks again. It also means that I'll get like, two months of back pay in one paycheck. I think I'm going to use it to help jaded pencil pushing troll move out from under her bridge. Sunshine will be good for her.

Impulsivity at its finest

I have this terrible habit of starting things in a moment of (perceived) clarity. For example, last weekend I just started ripping up the carpet because I felt like it. I started grad school one time because I was in the mood. I tattooed a Shel Silverstein illustration on my hip because I felt inspired.

And thus, I started this blog. Mostly because I'm currently sitting alone in my office, having just gotten off the phone with an insurance company about a denied claim for a "pre-existing" condition, and have no one to whom I can complain (husband = in a meeting, mom = in San Antonio, office mate = actually doing work).

I've started several blogs, none of which have lasted. One I started presumably under a pseudonym to allow for some anonymous rantings, but I apparently don't understand enough about technology to actually make it anonymous. Another I started as a venture in experimental green life changes, but suffered immensely at the hands of my own conscience while trying to reduce my carbon footprint to nothing. So in this one, I'm not changing, and I'm owning my feelings. This will be cathartic at the least, but we'll see how long it lasts.

So no joke, still reeling from the fact that my insurance won't cover an office visit for ocular migraines (really, I was going blind at my desk several times a week), my husband literally just called me to say he locked his keys in his car. We only have ONE car (the other one fell victim to my shrinking carbon footprint), so I am not really in the position to take a key to him. You know, I don't listen to my parents much, but one thing my dad always taught me was to keep a spare key in my wallet. Now that you all know that (all zero readers), you can steal my wallet and break into my shitty Subaru and steal my Jim Gaffigan comedy CDs, but seriously, this is exactly why I do that. I imagine that he will miss his dentist appointment while waiting for AAA, and we will be blacklisted at Gentle Smiles since this will be his second missed appointment this week. Apologies, Dr. Dentist, for my awesomeness.