It's many things. The commute, especially when it takes more than an hour to come back home, has been worse than I anticipated and has worn on my patience. That week where some guy came in and started ordering us around -- well, it was just a week, but like I said before, I quit my old job because something similar to this happened over there, and now I feel like even more of a fool for staying. And the scrutiny over when I pee and get my coffee still feels very infantilizing, even though me cutting down on the trips to the loo seems to have quelled the hectoring.
But it's the failed test that's turned me off on this project. Can't lie. All those other things are beyond my control, and therefore I don't feel a responsibility towards those bad things happening to me. This failed test, though, I feel so ashamed. It's a stain that I can't get rid of, even as I excoriate myself in order to scratch it off my skin like rough sandpaper. Everything, to me, seems ruined now. And to be clear, it's all my fault. I fucked up this test, and I don't know why, and the faith I had in myself is now shaken if not completely gone. And yet, because I need a goddamn paycheck, I have no choice but to go back there in a few hours.
So that's why it's so completely sickening to me to work there now. It's all ruined, it's all a mess. See, everything back at the old place (assuming I would be able to pass their tests, and that has gotten touch-and-go the past couple years) was great. Except that they had to fucking promote someone after two weeks of work. If they didn't pull that shit, I would be fine over there and everything would be gravy. But now, I wake up and go to someplace and do something I hate. It's all my fault, but I still hate it.
This project ends in two weeks. As much as I dislike unemployment, this project can't end soon enough.
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