Earlier this week I got a notice of non-compliance from the idiot twit who manages our homeowners association. Supposedly, back on the 12th of this month, she drove through the neighborhood and observed that my weeds and lawn (that was the actual description used in the letter) were in need of mowing. They didn’t. My front lawn is a combination of fescue and bermuda grass. The developer put in bermuda for everyone, so the fescue in my yard greens up and starts growing before the neighbors’ bermuda lawns. Because of this, early in the season my lawn appears thicker and taller than it actually is when compared to those of my neighbors. Since my neighbors’ grass was at ground level and mine wasn’t, she assumed that mine was out of spec. I’ll guarantee that it wasn’t, but she’s not worth the time it would take to argue the point. Especially since I had already mowed twice by the time she actually got around to mailing the letter.
I’ve had run-ins with this female in the past, and she is jerking my chain because she thinks she can. In the past, I’ve given her the satisfaction of a reaction. Not this time. She can revel in her insignificant role as grass height police. As soon as the development is 80+% built, we’re going to kick her and the company she works for out and hire someone who won’t waste our HOA dues, causing the 20% annual increases in fees that have had to pay every year since moving here. I hate HOAs, but since there are no developments in the area less than ten years old that do not have a HOA, and I can’t afford ten acres out in the country, I had little choice. Like with every level of government, though, I will resist with my full power and might in an effort to decrease the extent to which they stick their nose into my private life.
On another subject, BigBoxRetailer is insisting on kicking my ass. Earlier this week, one of my colleagues called out, so they asked me to come in and work her shift. I’d worked nine out of ten days since Mothers Day, and I had huge plans of doing as little as possible this three-day weekend (Thursday night through tonight). Ah, but it was not to be. This afternoon when I got up, I found a message from one of the assistant managers asking me to come in and work my normal shift hours tonight. I was supposed to be off tonight, and I was SO looking forward to it.
I had a few hours worth of things that I needed to be sure got done this weekend, but the rest of my time was supposed to be a combination of the non-critical things on my to-do list and some relaxing time. I hadn’t been sleeping very well, so Thursday night was spent mostly catching up on sleep. Roomie wanted to go shopping Friday, so since she hates to drive and I had both Friday and Saturday nights off, I volunteered to spend yesterday playing chauffeur. That went well, except for the fact that my favorite Chinese buffet-style restaurant where I make it a point to eat on the rare occasions when we’re in that area was closed when we pulled into the parking lot. Oh, well. More weight loss for me.
After not getting anything done on Thursday or Friday, I had a full day planned for today. Until I got the message asking me to come in and work tonight, that is. I really, really don’t want to go in, and I am under no obligation to do so. However, I can’t feel good about saying no. I’m still new, and I want to make sure they like and appreciate me. Such things could prove very valuable in the future.
So, I spent the last several hours knocking out as much of my to-do list as possible, and am currently venting to the internet about the petty inconveniences in my life caused by, you know, actually having a job, while waiting for the dishwasher to finish so I can put the dishes away before going upstairs to catch a short nap.
During the last two decades, I’ve never worked a five-days-a-week job. I worked 10-12 hours every day, but no more than four days every week. I’ve gotten used to doing absolutely nothing on the days that I work but work and sleep. Other stuff only got done on my days off. When working a 12-hour shift, adding in the getting ready and travel time, there was little time left over for anything else. Now that I am five minutes away from my eight hour shift job, I’m going to have to readjust my thinking. There is time to do things on days that I work. I just have to make myself realize that and then do it. Until I do, expect copious amounts of whining.