I hate my job. There are two good things about my job. 1) I get to drive a forklift. They can pick up heavy things and turn really sharp. 2) I get to see the sunrise out a big bay door near my area. I can't remember the last time I was awake early enough to see a sunrise; before beginning this job, that is. They used to have free popsicles, which would have made three things, but not anymore.
I get so angry at work lately. The past couple of weeks I've been training guys into my area so I could switch to a different one. But after training five guys who either quit or were fired (five!), I just stayed. They changed my area so it's much less efficient, meaning more work for me. I don't mind work, I like work. But I don't like having extra work piled on me by someone who doesn't acknowledge me at all. It's like I'm not a person in there. They just expect me--if they even consider that there is an I, a me doing their work--to do it, no questions asked. I feel helpless, and I hate, hate, hate feeling helpless. It makes me angry; plows me straight into the dirt.
On a lighter note...I currently have a beard. Congratulations on your engagement, Tyler. Coincidentally, the last time Southern California was burning to the ground (for years ago) I was serving my mission in Tyler's home ward.