My moment in time is now.
This morning I woke up thinking about work. It seems every morning lately I wake up thinking about work. I've had things put on me that I've had neither the experience nor the training to be ready for, and it makes me angry. Angry. Angry.
I'm doing it. I'm finishing the paper every week. I'm play-acting editor. Because I have to, not because I think I'm remotely qualified. I won't win any awards, I won't get any recognition but it is getting done.
This is hard for a perfectionist person like me. I don't like doing things, especially public things, until I'm confident in what I know. Doing this week after week is making me angry. Angry. Angry. It's making me tense. It's making me boring. It's making me ... well, a bitch. To put it mildly.
No one. No one. Gets it. Not really. Their days can go on as normal, basically. They can miss the person and be outraged that he was fired. I'm stuck with his work and with being angry with him.
I would not like to be put in that position either. I'm so sorry you have been placed there.
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