Swinging

My blog is playing games with me. One moment it is saying that I did not publish that last post and the next moment it is telling me that I did. Who knew that a blog could reflect the blogger's mindset?

Have you ever gone from feeling normal, even-keeled, and just go with the flow to fiendishly irritable and maniacally frustrated? That happened to me today and it is something that happens every so often. I posted the last bit of nonsense and, before I knew it, I felt like this:

 

And I really did want to just slump in my chair, cross my arms, and wait for someone to come to my cubicle so that I could pick a fight. Fortunately, this did not happen. Instead, a potential candidate responded to an email stating that there was no way he could work for this company because we don't pay enough and blah blah blah. That helped fuel the anger building inside of me and I took it out on him. Well, not directly, of course, because that would be very bad. No, I did so indirectly through mocking him, anonymously, to other people. I've even come up with a boilerplate email template that I am going to use from now on whenever anyone emails me and says "no way in hell, toots, you don't pay enough for my self-righteous ass." It goes thusly:

"Dear Sir:
     Thank you for letting me know that you are not interested in joining our company. I understand that, as a very important person, you expect blow jobs instead of handshakes and so of course you cannot afford to work for the rates we pay. We are contracted with state agencies and, if we were able to compensate you handsomely, as is your due, I'm sure you would bitch about the wastefulness of government spending come tax time.
     As it is, I'm certain you will bitch like a little girl with a skinned knee when determinations in your field are taken away from the experts and put in the hands of lawyers. You will whine and moan and stomp and complain and blame everyone, never realizing that this has been done because the experts refused to do the work without getting a fat payday.
     In closing, I would like to invite you to kindly fuck off for telling me how much you make an hour at other companies like mine as it is nothing at all like the pittance that mere peons like myself make and it was quite unnecessary of you to rub it in.
      Fuck you, fuck you very much,

                Simply a Girl
                 Surliest Employee Ever"

 Was this the most mature response I could have had? No, obviously it wasn't. But it was the best one at the time and it made me feel better and that is really what it is all about, especially when the ride into work was slightly nightmarish and setting the stage for the rest of the day.