To Work Or Not To Work?

* Warning!!! This blog entry contains lots of ugly words and caps lock!!*

I have decided that I need to look for a job. We need the money.

I don't want to. I don't want to. I don't want to. I don't want to. I don't want to.

I feel like a lamb being led to slaughter.

The corporate ladder climbing.

The oneup(wo)manship.

The bickering and skinnering.

The back stabbing.

The permanently feeling out because I am not tits and ass.

The tedious drone of the day while you wait for the time to pass.

The boring, crappy work that someone else thinks up all the time.

Dealing with those IDIOT clients, of which the worst scourge of the earth must surely be a brand manager. ANY brand manager. They are SUCH fuckwits.

I fucking HATE advertising.

Sitting there with the thought that you SHOULD be working for yourself, lining (trying anyways) your own pockets instead of someone elses.

The mere thought of being treated like a child again: in at 8:30 exactly in do not leave a minute before five.

Dare take lunch time and you get the beady eye.

The Heir crying his eyes out when I leave in the morning saying: Mommy! Don't go to work, please don't go to work.

Living as a guest in my own house.

Wearing work shoes - I dislike shoes. They HURT.

Uncomfortable clothes.

Permanently having to check if your make-up is still on your eyes and lips and not on your cheeks and chin.

Answering the bloody phone when you are busy.

Sitting in peak traffic for two hours every day.

Losing touch with my house, my castle.

Giving up my position in the house to mom & mother-in-law.

The stress.

Ugh! Ugh! Ugh!

I H A T E I T!!!

It makes me UNHAPPY. U.N.H.A.P.P.Y. uhn-haaa-pee.

It will make me seriously consider driving into a bridge on my way to work.

No. I have changed my mind.

I am not going to look for work.

I am going to make my own work.

And I am going to involve both my mother and my mother-in-law in this. Bullshit. We are three women living in this house that can look after kids, clean, do the washing and cook. Why must I be punished to go work (away from my house and my kids) while they get to do what I should be doing?

Why can I not work from home? I work hard when I work.

So, I have decided. We are going to make hats for children. Sun hats.

And I will call the hat range: Jungle Child. Or Urban Child. Bling Bling Baby. Or something.

My mom can help sew (which she is good at) and mother-in-law can help sell and go to the creches (which she is good at).

Fuck that.

I am NOT going to work for someone else.