Because being demoted at my job is even extra, super-duper lame

I'm currently typing with a toddler draped over my chest. Something happens after nap that makes Boobers needyneedy, and I'm not allowed to put him down lest he emits ear-piercing shrieks. And just as I was about to get firm, to tell him I HAVE TO TYPE WITH TWO APPENDAGES, he wrapped his baby arm around mine and put his head down on my shoulder. Then I melted and decided I'd peck with my nose if I have to.

As of the week after next, I won't be a supervisor at work any more and I will drop down to barista. It means a pay cut, but I think it will more than make up for missing sanity. The whole company is going to pot (heh. I said pot), and to cut costs and save money and in general fuck with the employees, you have to be available NINETY hours a week to be a supervisor. Not that you have to work that much, just basically be available, ohhh, twelve hours a day. I can't physically do that. I'm pretty sure it wouldn't be prudent to pay for daycare for two to three kids while I make my $9 an hour.

And then today I filled out applications online to a couple of hospitals I'd really like to work at when I graduate. I've heard it's good to have a foot in the door. I don't know if they'll call back, because I resisted the urge to type somewhere, "WILL MOP FLOORS IF I HAVE TO." Because really, at this point, I'd scrub toilets with toothbrushes if it got me out of the hellhole I'm at now.

I've come to the conclusion that this job is really, really bumming me out. I probably let it affect me more than I should, but I can't help it. Well, I guess that isn't true. I can help it by leaving. Which I hope more than anything happens soon. I have my toothbrushes and Comet ready.