Bugger

I'm a minion. I like being a minion. I've been a boss, a supervisor, an instructor, and I didn't like it very much - too much stress and too many demands made of me that would have compromised my ethics.

So, I'm a minion. I file, I build databases, I help customers by taking their money (I'm generous like that, you know), I do financial reconciliations... I do minion work. And I'm doing it in an absolutely stunning area, the National Park where I grew up. I know a lot of the people who live here, went to school with them, played and fought with them, grieved when their folks died. It's a kind of spiritual home to me; where I had some of the most happiest times of my life.

Minions, unfortunately, are also expendable and so I've been told that there ain't no more money for contractors; it's all about staffing levels - regardless of work loads - and I am superfluous, as of the end of January.

I'm fortunate in that a number of my bosses up the chain of command are unhappy with that proposal and are working to change the bean-counters minds. Whether they'll be successful or not, I don't know.

I can only hold on to the idea that when one door closes, another opens. I don't want to leave, to be forced to go, but it looks like that's going to happen.

Sometimes, the Fates force us to accept changes. I understand that, but Hell, why couldn't the big boss mention this after the Solstice? Merry fucking Christmas, ma'am.