It might seem like all I do is complain about work. This, though, is meant more as an observation.

Arriving at work yesterday I found the cooler had been emptied of meat chubs. Every single last one of them had been taken out and placed in the meat case out front.

The general assumption is that someone wanted the case to look full. And it might have worked, had some care been involved. Instead, everything got shoved together into a massive mess.

Now a reasonable, good associate would have done something to fix this. Problem is, I spend the better part of the previous day working on organizing the cooler and whoever had this latest brain storm undid all that. All I could see was spending another hour or so of work, only to be told I did it wrong and have it undone.

Is this a bad attitude to have? A little. I’m more apathetic about things, and that doesn’t help me or my associates in the long run.

It’s also, I think, a reaction to uncertainty. Until more stable leadership comes in (assuming more stable leadership does come in), it’s probably better to go with the flow. Especially since I’m seriously considering leaving anyways.

That didn’t stop me from commenting loudly about how stupid it was. I am who I am.

Another day begins with me wondering why I stick around Walmart.

Our department now has no team leads. One has developed sense and left the store for hopefully better things. The other dropped a box of frozen gravy on her leg and now has to be off her feet for two weeks. We’ll see how well my department does on its own. We know our jobs, so it should be fine. My luck, it devolves into a Lord of the Flies situation.

My first inclination is to make a joke about finding the conch shell. My mom, who read the book, almost didn’t get it, so that remains a joke for me.

Here is a quick Walmart related story. One of my associates in the Meat department lost her mother recently. They had the funeral, and towards the end my coach shows up. He comes with a card and a question for the associate: “When are you coming back to work?”

Those that heard that story in Bakery were not impressed. Neither am I.

I go to work in a few minutes. I’m not sure why. The basic job I still enjoy. I like my fellow associates. But the reason I’ve been staying has left and my new reason for being there–getting a silly certificate and pin–really isn’t cutting it.

I want something new and I’m not certain what that is. Looking at Target and Costco haven’t brought me too much joy, outside potentially better pay. I’ve picked up on my writings, which is a good thing, but that won’t pay the bills for a long time. There’s always the lottery, I suppose. I’ve one that a few times. $8. About enough to buy another ticket. Yay?

Anyways, that’s my whining for the day. I’m health (ish), everything else seems to be average, and others have it worse than I do. Seems wrong to complain. Still, better venting than keeping it in, right?

In theory, I don’t mind my old stuff.

It was who I was. Looking at it, I can presumably see improvement.

Yesterday, I went off and deleted almost every post on my old Facebook account.

I hadn’t posted there since 2008. That’s some old stuff.

And it was all awful.

Just terribly, terrible stuff.

As a rule one sentence, set up sort of like this:

I no doubt thought I was being funny at the time. Problem? None of it was!

It was the most awful things I’d ever written. Well, except for that one story I wrote for this site that I never posted. But that one was intentional.

I now am literally afraid to go look at the older posts on this site. I am seriously considering making the archive private to protect my own sanity.

And why did I even go back to Facebook? I got my first friend signup in ages from someone from work I really, really, really don’t want seeing that crap.

Has she already, I wonder? Has she since lost what little respect for me she had?

Damned if I know. I might never know.

My only hope is that she’s been too busy to hit Facebook.

The way this year’s been treating me, she made time to look shortly after friending me.

It can’t be helped, it can’t be cured. I’m just going to obsess over it for the rest of my life like I do every other stupid, stupid, stupid thing I do.

My God! Why’d I post so much on Facebook?! Who does that?

For the record, this post is written in jest. Not enough in jest for my tastes, but still. Still.

Mentioning I was on Facebook to her seemed like such a good idea at the time, too.