An Impossible Job…

I leave for work in two hours, where I manage the support services in a building with 140 highly acute residents.

There should be a staff consisting of my role, an assistant manager, and five case managers to do the work, but what we have is me, and three case managers, one of which is starting today and two who work four day schedules. Despite this, the needs of 140 residents don’t change and for some reason, leadership has asked me to bring a dessert for 50 people to a holiday pot luck on Wednesday. The dessert can’t be pies, cakes, cookies, ice cream or cupcakes.

Holiday party.

Right.

I don’t want to go, and I certainly don’t give a fuck about dessert.

I do give a fuck about this building and the people who live there, and I also give a fuck about the impact on my mental health. Speaking of which, my therapy appointment is on Wednesday too, so I’ll have to leave the celebration and ugly sweater contests early.

Drag.

Much more to come on the building, HIPPA compliant of course.

I am, after all, a professional.

-Drake

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