Today I found out I was majorly thrown under the bus. Now I love that term, it is so perfect. When you actually know you have been thrown under the bus, it is tough. Little did I know that colleagues talked crap about me, don't want to be bothered with me, somehow I have become a nuisance, when I thought I was finally being a team player--which is not always that easy for me--as I find many people inept. But I threw myself into being a team player, and then this is how I get repaid. I had no warning that I was about to be told I was thrown under the bus, which made the whole experience that much worse. I really had no idea what the phone call was about. And my car somehow became center stage at the end, which was even odder than the phone call itself.
I hung up wanting to cry, out of total frustration. It is totally ridiculous at this age to even waste ONE second feeling bad about work, I mean really. Like they say, no person on their death bed says they should have spent more time at their office. I think they should also say, no one worries on their death bed if they have been thrown under the bus. Really, in the big scheme of life, who the hell cares.
I am reminded of a blog I wrote back in the fall I think, where I decided sometimes one just has to say F*%$ YOU! And scream it from the roof tops, and I sort of did today, while standing in my bathroom where no one could hear me in the neighborhood, so they really did not think I was some kind of wacko.
And then after wanting to cry out of frustration, and then yelling F*%$ YOU, I felt a bit free with the whole thing, as it is what it is, afterall, I cannot change what other people do. In my dad's words "you just worry about yourself." I can be my biggest fan, so I will.
I hung up wanting to cry, out of total frustration. It is totally ridiculous at this age to even waste ONE second feeling bad about work, I mean really. Like they say, no person on their death bed says they should have spent more time at their office. I think they should also say, no one worries on their death bed if they have been thrown under the bus. Really, in the big scheme of life, who the hell cares.
I am reminded of a blog I wrote back in the fall I think, where I decided sometimes one just has to say F*%$ YOU! And scream it from the roof tops, and I sort of did today, while standing in my bathroom where no one could hear me in the neighborhood, so they really did not think I was some kind of wacko.
And then after wanting to cry out of frustration, and then yelling F*%$ YOU, I felt a bit free with the whole thing, as it is what it is, afterall, I cannot change what other people do. In my dad's words "you just worry about yourself." I can be my biggest fan, so I will.
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