Fark.

I would give just about anything for a long, deep claw-foot tub right about now, and on-demand hot water. And super-duper-bubbly bubble bath.

I have the entire bottle of champagne, unopened, to drink myself into oblivion with when I happen to chance across said claw-foot tub. I have novels waiting, unread, making long faces and puppy-dog eyes at me from their dusty perches on the bookshelf, to read (see: escape) when I find that tub.

Hell, I even have all manner of super-soothing, beautiful music to blare at ridiculous levels while I pretend I don't have neighbors or that said neighbors are deaf already so who cares how loud the music is anyway? when I discover that wonderful tub ...


Sigh.

The work situation is scary right now. Like, really really scary. People are being laid off left and right (although I've been assured several times that my job is totally secure) and one of my co-workers in the production department just got the axe today. That leaves me and my boss as the only two people in our department now, and while we are both damn fucking good at what we do, we're not that good. Even with energy drinks ... Even with energy drink IVs.

Sigh again.

To make up for the now re-goddamn-diculous understaffing issue in our department as well as the graphics department, the two departments are being merged. This will help, definately, but with the graphics department hurting just as much as we are, we still won't be able to keep up the pace we have been. Tasks will need to be reassigned, and that is always like pulling teeth around here. Or more like squeezing blood from a rock. Because we've been so damned fantastic and amazing and machine-like for so many years in the past, we are apparently thought to actually be machines, or minor gods, or just plain perfect in every way except for an annoying habit of demanding that other people do their jobs on time so we can do ours (imagine! The nerve!).

We're not perfect. We are only human, and we have human limits. Even with energy drinks (even through IVs!) we cannot cram 18 hours worth of work into 8 hours, even skipping lunches and breaks, much less do it every day and not get a wee tiny bit snippy about it. It's just not possible.

But we're expected to do it. And to smile about it, no matter how obviously fake and hate-laced the smiles are.

I'm perfecting my "happy-sneer." I've learned how to bare my incisors and make people think I'm still a darling little angel.

Oh, where oh where is that beautiful, claw-footed, double-bubbly oblivion? The thought that the master's degree I will earn someday after getting my bachelor's (which may now take me even longer to get, as I may have to change my schedule to maintain only one class per term all the way through, instead of taking two each for the last three terms) will allow me to have that claw-foot tub is the only thing some days that keeps me happy-sneering like a sweet thing, when what I really want to do is


just


walk


out.