F-F-S...

I am bloody annoyed. Seriously, heavily, PMS-style annoyed. In fact the most uptight woman on the planet with PMS probably couldn't hold a candle to how annoyed I am right now. It all started when I heard my employers will be calling me in for a disciplinary interview for "taking too much time off work" which was triggered by the absence I had last week. It's all automatic - if your absence record fits the criteria, the letter gets sent out. The bloody boss hasn't even signed it properly - he's written his name in a script-like typeface where the signature goes.

Despite knowing when I made the phone call last Monday week that this would probably happen, I am still raging mad about this. Why we are even bothering to hold the interview I've no idea. I've had experience of this sort of thing before, and have heard stories around the office, and I know that no matter what I say at this interview I will be hit with a warning. They only take what actually is said at the interview into account if it's your job on the line, and I'm not at that stage yet - not officially, but I still will be facing what is in effect a one year suspended sacking from Tuesday.

I dragged myself to work in pain on several occasions during the winter because I wanted to avoid this happening. If I could have held out another moon, it would have been all right. As long as you don't trigger the automatic criteria. One day is enough - and I speak from experience. But then, these are the bloody people who have done the same thing to people who have been off work for cancer treatment. Cancer treatment, for Zog's sake!

To hell with them. And everyone and everything else.

You know what else annoys me? Besides my heartless bloody employers, and besides having to fight my way through third-generation doleites who don't even have the brains to get a pair of headphones to plug into their little mobile phones when they listen to "bangin' choons" on the sick joke they call "public transport" in this one-horse town? I'll tell you what - things are going to hell in a handbasket and all we're worried about is the tiniest bloody details! About how we should have used black ink instead of blue, or called something X instead of Y, or put something in the orange bin instead of the green one. You know the stuff I mean. You're probably guilty of doing this yourself sometimes. I know I am. Meanwhile nothing important gets done and those in charge rape us again and again while cackling demonically to themselves.

Well, I'm rather tired of being raped.