Admit it: You missed me.
Or not. Perhaps you're even unaware of my trajectory across CS... disgruntled hotel worker to disgruntled factory worker to disgruntled hotel worker and provider of services to developmentally-disabled teens, and on to full-fledged social worker. This was my dream for the longest time, it took years to finally convince myself that I had the brains and the ability to do this job, and then I went back to school and got my degrees and now I. Am. Doing. It.
I hate it.
Imagine that. You spend all this time, all this money, go to all this trouble and effort to land your dream job, you land your dream job, and your dream job sucks. They told me that it would take a year and a half to even begin to think you know what you're doing and not to bother thinking you're competent until then. My boss even told me I'm picking things up a little faster than average. However, it's been seven months and I don't know what I'm doing and I feel like both the world's grandest asshole and the world's biggest idiot.
I recognize the cognitive dissonance in that situation. I'm right on track, even a little ahead, but I spend my days (and my nights) absolutely loathing myself because I lack the superhuman intelligence it would take to have mastered this job after only seven months.
Then there's the stress. So much stress. My body has four reactions to job-related stress: Losing sleep, tension headaches, chest pains, and shitting blood. I've only hit the fourth level a couple of times in my life, but I'm averaging a solid three here at Dark Corner County DSS at least once or twice a week. Upper left side, if you want to know. I can keep myself up all night if I even think of the job, the place, or any of my coworkers at an inopportune time. The thought of my job triggers a spike of dread, when I'm here or when I'm not.
In other words, I literally have a fight-or-flight response to the mere thought of my work. It's madness, and there are many reasons for it. The paperwork, for one -- if my calculations are correct a new page of paperwork is generated every six minutes you spend in the DSS building. This is because social workers go into the field in order to change lives and heal the world. However, changing lives and world-healing are very dangerous endeavors and you could be sued for daring to even think about pulling a stunt like that. Therefore, in order to protect you from such consequences there are several thousand layers of ass-covering paperwork between you and any life you might change or any corner of the world you might heal. The goal is to make sure you're too busy filling out forms to have time to change lives or heal the world. In fact, filling out forms about people is crucial, and far more important than actually spending time with the people you're filling out forms about. Then there is the fact that no matter how many social workers you've got, the good people of Dark Corner County simply cannot be persuaded to stop fucking their children, leaving dirty needles in their cribs, or manufacturing meth in the same kitchen in which, not three feet away from the latest batch, stands the box of their children's Lucky Charms cereal. Thus, no matter what the state says is the legal number of kids you can have on your case load, if there are more kids coming into custody (and there always are) you get them. Someone has to and damn what the state says. The Dark Cornerites just keep doing what they do best.
And I am thoroughly sick of dealing with children with personality disorders. And parents with personality disorders. And the fact that when a kid comes into custody they can end up anywhere depending on where there is an available foster home and where their extended families live. I have some kids five hours away living with their nearest un-fucked up relatives and I have some more living three hours away. I have a set of sibling split between two foster homes three hours apart and I have to make a visit happen between them and their human ruin of a mother every single goddamn week, and you can imagine what kind of special hell that is, trying to coordinate that.
And on and on and on. My dream jobs sucks dirty ass. What can I do? I promised myself I would stay at least a year, in part because it takes a lot of money to train a social worker and in part because everyone here has done a lot to bring me into the fold. However, it's only a matter of time before I hit my fourth level of stress. Then what?
Or not. Perhaps you're even unaware of my trajectory across CS... disgruntled hotel worker to disgruntled factory worker to disgruntled hotel worker and provider of services to developmentally-disabled teens, and on to full-fledged social worker. This was my dream for the longest time, it took years to finally convince myself that I had the brains and the ability to do this job, and then I went back to school and got my degrees and now I. Am. Doing. It.
I hate it.
Imagine that. You spend all this time, all this money, go to all this trouble and effort to land your dream job, you land your dream job, and your dream job sucks. They told me that it would take a year and a half to even begin to think you know what you're doing and not to bother thinking you're competent until then. My boss even told me I'm picking things up a little faster than average. However, it's been seven months and I don't know what I'm doing and I feel like both the world's grandest asshole and the world's biggest idiot.
I recognize the cognitive dissonance in that situation. I'm right on track, even a little ahead, but I spend my days (and my nights) absolutely loathing myself because I lack the superhuman intelligence it would take to have mastered this job after only seven months.
Then there's the stress. So much stress. My body has four reactions to job-related stress: Losing sleep, tension headaches, chest pains, and shitting blood. I've only hit the fourth level a couple of times in my life, but I'm averaging a solid three here at Dark Corner County DSS at least once or twice a week. Upper left side, if you want to know. I can keep myself up all night if I even think of the job, the place, or any of my coworkers at an inopportune time. The thought of my job triggers a spike of dread, when I'm here or when I'm not.
In other words, I literally have a fight-or-flight response to the mere thought of my work. It's madness, and there are many reasons for it. The paperwork, for one -- if my calculations are correct a new page of paperwork is generated every six minutes you spend in the DSS building. This is because social workers go into the field in order to change lives and heal the world. However, changing lives and world-healing are very dangerous endeavors and you could be sued for daring to even think about pulling a stunt like that. Therefore, in order to protect you from such consequences there are several thousand layers of ass-covering paperwork between you and any life you might change or any corner of the world you might heal. The goal is to make sure you're too busy filling out forms to have time to change lives or heal the world. In fact, filling out forms about people is crucial, and far more important than actually spending time with the people you're filling out forms about. Then there is the fact that no matter how many social workers you've got, the good people of Dark Corner County simply cannot be persuaded to stop fucking their children, leaving dirty needles in their cribs, or manufacturing meth in the same kitchen in which, not three feet away from the latest batch, stands the box of their children's Lucky Charms cereal. Thus, no matter what the state says is the legal number of kids you can have on your case load, if there are more kids coming into custody (and there always are) you get them. Someone has to and damn what the state says. The Dark Cornerites just keep doing what they do best.
And I am thoroughly sick of dealing with children with personality disorders. And parents with personality disorders. And the fact that when a kid comes into custody they can end up anywhere depending on where there is an available foster home and where their extended families live. I have some kids five hours away living with their nearest un-fucked up relatives and I have some more living three hours away. I have a set of sibling split between two foster homes three hours apart and I have to make a visit happen between them and their human ruin of a mother every single goddamn week, and you can imagine what kind of special hell that is, trying to coordinate that.
And on and on and on. My dream jobs sucks dirty ass. What can I do? I promised myself I would stay at least a year, in part because it takes a lot of money to train a social worker and in part because everyone here has done a lot to bring me into the fold. However, it's only a matter of time before I hit my fourth level of stress. Then what?
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