*PLEASE NOTE: This blog may contain instances of some fucking atrocious language.
So... I've rarely ever been this angry in my entire life. I think capilliaries may start bursting due to abject rage. In fact, my body has already reacted to my current stress level by encouraging my tongue to seize up.
MY FUCKING TONGUE HAS SEIZED UP. That's been my body's response to the goings on of the last few days... brilliant huh? Not really.
So, Laura - I hear you cry - what has happened to make your tongue seize up leaving you lisping and stuttering like a badly animated Warner Brothers critter? What could possibly have happened in your mediocre little world that hovers 5 foot off the ground?
Nothing, I suppose. Technically, in the grand scheme of things I'm being a whiny bitch. No one is killing me or breaking people I adore - it's just that I'm being totally screwed over. Totally and utterly bent over a barrel and enjoyed in a back door related style.
I have one of these newfangled job things where, instead of doing something worthwhile like growing food or helping people (which pays nothing and is shat upon by everyone in the country), I do something totally meaningless and it keeps our aimless economy afloat based on an industry that isn't tangible at all. I get zero job satisfaction from my attendance in this venue. I don't enjoy it or the people or the hours or the success rate. But I do get paid. I earn a commission based on my effectiveness in the role. I don't get a lot of commission, but what I do get supplements the meagre salary so that I can afford to, oh you know, eat, see family, pay rent... buy brownie ingredients.
But yesterday I was told my commision's been withdrawn. Despite the fact that I've achieved above and beyond what was expected of me, it's been removed due to circumstances beyond my control. End of story. "Sorry small person - we know records indicate you've actually earned all this money but you're not going to actually be receiving it because some people have decided that the company doesn't quite line it's pockets enough through your activity. Back to your desk."
I don't think I've ever been so angry, frustrated and basically humiliated in my working life. There is no reason why the situation can't be amended so that it properly reflects the figures. But it just isn't going to be. Because I am too small and there's nothing they want to do that will benefit them.
If I had the teensy weensiest bit of job satisfaction - I wouldn't mind. I'm not very money orientated... clearly, I mean I've gigged for free for the last 2 years purely for the joy of it. But I loathe my job - it's a miserable little means to an end and I put a lot of energy into it to make sure it's financially worhtwhile.
If I liked my job, I don't think I'd be in the position I'm in today where I can't swallow without wincing because my tongue is stiffer than the dickheads who run the country (I don't mean politicians - I mean CEOs and global directors) and it won't move. This is yet another example of my body not reacting in any way useful when things go wrong. I have a stomach that can't digest fruit or natural products, hips that don't stay in their sockets during exercise, and a tongue that seizes up when I'm run down and upset. Perfect. If I ever went on a detox they'd probably have to hospitalise me.
Fuck you world. We're not friends for a while.