I am a delicate flower--quit fucking with me!

Yesterday as I was driving home from work, I was congratulating myself on how pulled together I seemed to be—at least for the day. I managed to get errands done both during lunch and after work and still got home at a decent hour.

But today. Ach. Today is a different story.

I’m feeling very thin-skinned and I don’t even know why. I want to crawl under my desk and cry. I want to tell my boss that I’m not happy here on a regular basis. I still like the work, and the people aren’t unfriendly, but they’re not warm.

Due in part to her (major) fuck up in the first week I was here, everyone thinks I’m an administrative assistant. I’m not. I left that behind 10 years ago. I’m a senior level contract administrator—I negotiate legal documents with the heavy-hitters. So why, in a policy that was rolled out this morning, was my name in there as the person to contact when you need a copy of a file?

The thing is, I can’t talk to her about it. Not today. Not without crying anyway. I need to grow a thicker skin before I bring this to light. Yet again.

So this morning I did the only thing I could do without giving away all my power to this boss who underestimates me: I called my 2 best head-hunters and asked them to go back on the hunt for me. Contract administration is such a niche job. Not many companies have a need for that position, but on the flip side, when they do, there’s not much competition—and I’m good, so I know I’ll find something better.

In the meantime, your good thoughts are greatly appreciated.