This was written on Friday, but I'm just getting around to posting to today.

I have to meet with the director of my department as well as Micro-Manager in about 30 minutes for a "policies review". The capital offense? I was 20 minutes late from lunch because Goofball had to go by his place and pick up his hockey gear and we ran into some construction. Telling her that would've been fine, but Goofball lied and said he was somewhere he wasn't and she busted him (mainly by going through his personal belongings when he was in the bathroom). Of course, our virtuous co-worker Hortense sold us out, making me guilty by association.

You know, because I'm such a bad influence. I blame it on the state trooper glases.

I'll be honest; I hope I get fired today. Why? Well, it's no secret that whatever joy I derived from this job has effectively been sucked out by my succubus manager, even to the point that a 10-minute walk to clear my head has to be documented, submitted, and accounted for should an emergency arise. Also, since the whole incident with the last job, I've sort of come to peace with leaving a job if management isn't treating me right, whether its pay, benefits or the corporate climate. I feel right now that as long as this month's rent is paid, I'm good to go. And it is paid. Thanks direct deposit!

I also hope this is my last day because it would finally give me the time I need to play catch-up on my many many back-burner projects, sniff out graduate school possibilities, and even look at which cities I may want to move to after Atlanta. In a way, it would be a blessing in disguise. Money would be tight for a while, but hell, when's money not tight? At least I'd be able to collect unemployment until I find a new gig, but going down to the Department of Labor is a bitch.

All in all, I'm trying to approach this meeting with a sense of calm. I do have some butterflies in my stomach, but I figure if after a year and a half of exceptional service and national accolades that they decided to axe me over a long lunch, then perhaps it ain't worth it. It simply ain't worth it.

The temperature is 75 degrees Fahrenheit. Wind is coming from the northwest at four miles per hour. 64% humidity. 8 mile visibility.

UPDATE: I was very reticent in the meeting. If there's one thing I hate, it's being talked down to like a child or I'm of lesser intelligence. That's the quickest way to piss me off, which is probably why I kept giving Micro-Manager the evil eye through the whole meeting. Reminds me to put a root on her when I get home.

Anyway, this was the outcome: Goofball and I no longer have lunch breaks. Of course, this is illegal, and I will be contacting someone at the department of labor today about it. Micro-Manager laid the case that everyone at our department should take their lunches at their desk, work past 5:00 p.m. and start as early as possible before 8:00 a.m. It must be sad to live in her world, because I like fresh air on my lunchbreak, getting in at 8:30 a.m. (as my job description states) and leaving at 5:00 p.m. (as my job description states), only staying longer if the project is absolutely necessary. You know…achieving a work-life balance and all that good stuff. If she wants us all to become her, we should get mullet cuts, watch Lifetime and become butch lesbians that ride motorcycles and have psychological complexes.

The world would be a much nicer place.

Also, the issue of Outlook meetings was brought up. Apparently, Micro-Manager got pissed off because I responded to a meeting of hers last week with "Tentative" because I already had another meeting near that time which I may or may not have been able to leave from early. The outcome: All meetings in Outlook must either be Accepted or Declined. No tentative meetings (even though I receive them all the time from Micro-Manager; either that or she won't show up at all. As Micro-Manager said, "we need to be accountable for you at all times, whether you're working, at lunch or just in the bathroom. It's a common professional courtesy."

I've got to take a piss. Let me go tug on Micro-Manager's leg and ask for permission.

At least it's Friday and payday.