Getting screwed, or, why kitty-mommy drinks too much.

This post is brought to you by the word #&%*!...
EXPLETIVES, they're not just for sailors anymore.

I already ranted and raved on a previous occasion about how I am a temp, and therefore my life is a type of heinous purgatory spent forever treading on eggshells because you never know when the ax will fall and you'll be living in a refrigerator box, doing unseemly favors in exchange for half of a stale peanut butter sandwich. 

Be it ever so humble...

But the fever has finally broke, so to speak, because I found out that I'm not getting renewed, and I'm not even getting an interview for the new positions that were created at my workplace.  So now I have nothing and everything to worry about.  I have a distinct end date, but I also have no plans as to how I am going to fill my time and my bank account as of the end of the month.

DH says not to take it personally.  And I can't even get into that without making this a really ugly scene so I'm just going to leave that part alone for now.  Let's just say there are a whole lot of people around here who can't even look me in the eye after ruining my future.

Consequently, the big question remains the same as it was before: what's next?  Despite having paid a shit-ton of cash for two degrees that aren't actually paid off I join the great unwashed masses in the unemployment line?  Maybe... because I've used it before apparently that makes it OK for Harper-bot and the Decepti-Cons to exclude me from the program, so here is yet another wait-and-see for me to ruminate on as I spend endless hours dicking around on Facebook and Pinterest because nobody actually assigns work projects to the person who's leaving anyway.

And that's why kitty-mommy drinks too much.