Nice knowin' ya, 2003

December 2002: The culmination of the six months in the worst job I've ever had is a nervous breakdown, complete with stress induced vomiting and panic attacks. Fun for the whole family. I walk out one afternoon and never go back, and I spend the next two months doing the filing at my last job but one, until they tell me they no longer have the budget to pay me. I'm so broke my parents are paying my rent for me. Tis the season to be not very jolly at all.February: I fetch up in the receptionist job of great boredom, which in turn becomes the PA job of great hilarity, as I end up mostly doing G the Communication Manager's job in my spare time. This is my one great stroke of luck for 2003, as, although the job itself (at least, the part that is covered by my job description) isn't very exciting, my boss is pretty much the greatest thing since sliced bread, and with the exception of G, everyone is lovely. G's terminal incomptence does have the added bonus of making me look shit-hot, which is a welcome ego boost after all that filing.June: Six months of reoccuring abdominal cramps, nausea and vomiting finally convince even me to go the doctor. Convincing the doctor that something is wrong is an added challenge, even after two days of foul tests, the results of which leave the gastric specialist flabbergasted. My regular doctor's comment on seeing the scan of my insides? 'Yuck.' "Urgent" surgery is scheduled for two months time, during which time I'm to just keep doing what I've been doing, which is not sleeping, not eating, and hoping I don't suddenly spike a massive infection, because, presumably, that'd be even 'yuckier'.July: I pick up my mobile to see 'HOME' flashing on the screen, which is a cue for instant panic when you live on your own. The panic is entirely justified when it proves to be from a lovely policeman seated at my kitchen table, who tells me someone threw a brick through my bedroom window, and could I please come home so I can tell them what was stolen? Gone were my laptop (*wail*), my tv, and my brand spanking new DVD player (*sob*). Also, finger print powder is a bitch to clean up, especially when it's mixed with shards of glass. And no, I don't have insurance.August: Surgery. Yay.September: After having been promised that my contract would be made permanent, my boss instead tells me that they've decided to downgrade my role, and that I'm not to apply for it because I would be bored brainless. I should instead spread my wings and fly, little bird, out into the big wide world. G, the moron, tells me what a great compliment it is that everyone thinks so much of me they've decided to take my job away, and give it someone not as good. She then inexplicably fails to do the right thing and hand in her resignation so I can have her job instead. To date, she has still failed to do this. How selfish can you get? My lovely boss finds shit load of project work for me, so I won't be rushed out the door. At the moment, I'm there till February.December: Job hunting fucking sucks. G comes back from her honeymoon to tell me that her husband refused a posting to Singapore. I spend the rest of the afternoon, and most of the following week, not stabbing her with a blunt pencil. In the seasonal spirit of charity and goodwill, I accidently overpay my phone bill by $500, so Telstra has a great Christmas, even if I don't. Also, a big fuck you to Channel 9, who show three eps of The O.C. before pulling it completely from all schedules without any explanation whatsoever.Next up, why 2004 willl be better, even if G doesn't fall under a bus.