Totally woke up in a Disney movie this morning. Was singing a little ditty, even had the sweet loveable animals perched nearby (and by nearby, I mean snoring in my ear). It is my birthday and I love birthdays. There's cards and presents and food and family and friends and presents and food. It's the culmination of a year of an existence that you never asked for but got anyway (like that Christmas sweater my grandmother insisted on buying for me) and wouldn't trade for anything (most days).
Made it to work a little later than ususal (five minutes early instead of fifteen), but it's all good, cuz it's my birthday. Then I made the fatal mistake of clocking in. My whole undoing in one single act of logging my presence for the man. Should've taken a vacation day.
A vacation day would've only put off the inevitable. Today I handed over one of my babies to someone else and I'm left feeling a mixture of anger (2%) and blind seething rage (98%). I don't even think it's worth it to get into details, because, well, it is what it is. And I didn't completely hand over my little tyke, I'm still the back up (and I think I need to get my hearing checked, because I keep seeing peoples' lips say "back up" but I hear "2nd rate citizen." So weird. Isn't that a sign of mental degradation or something??).
Six months I've spent working on this and now I'm just sick to my stomach that I've been asked to step back from it. Six months of forming a plan of attack and executing follow thru and exceeding the goals handed down by my superiors, only to be asked to train someone else to take it over. On my birthday. It's like some sick twisted cosmic joke is being played on me but it's no joke, because ultimately, the cosmos doesn't have a sense of humor and doesn't care if it's your birthday.