At work, standing in front of a cage. The small, white fluffy kick-dog has been barking non-stop all night. The victim of a stroke, nothing we have tried has comforted him, and he has now begun to slam his face into the cage door repeatedly, adding to the cacophony.
I turn to Kate. "I just don't give a fuck anymore that this dog is slamming his head into the cage. Do you think that may be a sign of burnout?"
She agreed that it may be.
I walked away from the dog.
I don't enjoy my job right now. I'm frustrated, tired, overworked. I'm burned out. There are so many things wrong with management. I've been yelled at - not just complained to, but yelled at - by two separate people for working with strep throat and getting them sick. Not that I was the one who brought strep into the hospital. Not that they were willing to cover my shift when i was sick. I play receptionist half the night because my work will not give us someone to work reception at night. We run out of necessary equipment, common drugs. We didn't have small nurser bottles this morning with which to nurse our newborn puppies. The morning supervisor seems to think I'm totally incompetent.
More and more, I just don't care. And I'm not all that pleasant to work with lately, or so i've been told. Repeatedly.
Hopefully, this will pass. I've still got a lot of days left this month to work. How many, you ask? well, i have thursday off. and then i work until ... May. 110 hours over the last two weeks of the month, all supervisor shifts.
at least i got the wheel off of my Scion, which makes it one step closer to getting fixed. I can't afford to keep putting gas in this truck.