So much for contentedness.
I’m over it. The job has, yet again, thrown a big ole monkey wrench into my life. I think I will be moving to a new office, starting Monday morning. Emphasis on *think*. Because everything is last-minute and nobody knows anything. It’s not a bad thing – I’ll be working with someone I like, my commute will be shorter, and I’ll be nearer my dad’s house and The Boy and school and all. But, simply put, it’s not what I’m used to, and it’s not what I expected. So I’m unsettled. It’s another tumultuous unplanned uncontrolled monkey wrench, and I hate them.
As someone delicately pointed out yesterday, I’m “a little obsessive”. Not that that’s a bad thing. Except that really, it is. It makes me not deal with things that, in retrospect, are dealable-with. They just look scary because I can’t control them.
I’m an ENFJ, for you Meyers-Briggs fans. Extroverted, Intuitive, Feeling, Judging. As opposed to Introverted or Sensing or Perceiving or whatever that other arbitrary stick-you-in-a-box categories are. As I understand it, it means I like people, I go with my gut, and I like to control stuff. Which means, probably, I would dislike a situation wherein I would suddenly and unexpectedly need to leave people I have relationships with. So here I am, disliking.
On-top-of-which my birthday is Monday. My 25th birthday. I am not going to spend it in Paris, as I had been wanting to do. I’m going to spend it moving in with my new coworkers, who think of me as 18, and don’t want to hire me but will shuffle me around for a few months. And, really? I just don’t want chaos and moving boxes and busy disorganized people on my birthday. I want EVERYONE TO BE NICE TO ME CAUSE I’M SPECIAL.
And, apparently, prone to tantrums.