So, I'm just randomly posting on a Friday -- I probably should post more than just my weigh in every week, I guess, but I haven't had much to say. But last night and today I've been having a bit of a pity party. I'm not really sure why. I think it's work-related. And I'm hoping that if that's it, having next week off will help -- like maybe I just need a break. It's not that I don't like my job, mostly I do. But my hours are different this week, and will be the rest of this month, and probably a big part of next month. It's easy to like my job when I'm not always putting in 40 hours a week but still getting paid like I am, and when I rarely work past 11 pm, in fact rarely even work until 11 pm.
I do closed captioning for TV, and when the US House of Representatives is in session, that's what I caption -- and it's during those times that I like my job most. Not because I particularly enjoy hearing politicians talk all day, but because my hours match the time the House is in session -- and they like to end the day early, and have four-day weekends, and start their first day back for the week at noon or later. It's really easy to like hours like that, even if they have occasional days when they work until midnight trying to get stuff finished on time. But right now, they're out on their August recess, back in their districts, visiting constituents and whatever else it is they do when they're not in DC actively working to pass legislation. Or actively working to not pass legislation, depending on their stance. Unfortunately, I don't get paid to sit around and do nothing while they're out -- I go back to a regular captioning schedule, and for me that means usually working until midnight, and sometimes later, for instance, tonight, I'll be on air until 2 am my time. It used to not bother me to work that late, but it's getting harder to do, especially when I'm switching between that and the earlier hours when the House is in session.
So where does the desire for a cheeseburger come in? I was driving down the road and passed a Whataburger (it's almost impossible not to around here, we have three in this town of about 30,000 people) and the thought popped into my head, a cheeseburger would be really good right now. Now, I wasn't hungry. I was in the middle of drinking one of my MF drinks/meals/whatever you want to call it. I hadn't been thinking about it before, and I've driven past countless restaurants over the last six weeks or so and not had these thoughts (not often, anyway). So I started to think about why I feel this way, and I realized -- my little pity party about work started last night, and I know that the only way to resolve my dislike of my hours is to talk to my supervisor about changing them. I hate being seen as demanding, and over the nine years I've worked for this company, I've often gone out of my way to make sure other people's scheduling requests could be accommodated, offering to switch shifts or work overtime or whatever was needed to be sure that all the shows that needed to be covered were covered. The thought of actually going to my supervisor and saying, "look, I need to change my hours, this just isn't working for me anymore," scares me. Even though it shouldn't, and even though I have as much seniority as anyone else there, more than some, and I'm not even asking for some radical change -- I just really don't want to work past 11 pm anymore.
Hmmm. Emotional stuff going on, cheeseburger craving. Gee, I wonder if they're connected? Anyway, I didn't stop for a cheeseburger, I finished my MF thing (an Orange Blend Drink, not my favorite), wandered through an antique store down on the square, and came home and wrote this. Now I'm going to go heat up my leftover spaghetti squash with some chicken and maybe some cherry tomatoes or some zucchini, and figure out exactly how I'm going to broach the subject of changing my hours with my supervisor.