1. AFGE Local 1904. Here we are 36 weeks past the “end of max telework” and the union, such as it is, still hasn’t come through on delivering the new and improved telework agreement. Now, I’m told, the alleged negotiation has gone so far sideways that it’s been sent to binding arbitration. Resolution to that could literally take years. So, we’re going to be grinding along for the foreseeable future with only two days a week like pre-COVID barbarians… as if 30 months of operating nearly exclusively through telework didn’t prove that working from home works. All this is ongoing while hearing stories of other organizations tucked in next door that are offering their people four or five day a week work from home options. I’m sure someone could make the case that there’s enough blame to go around, but since the updated and perfectly acceptable policy for supervisors was published 36 weeks ago, I’m going to continue to go ahead and put every bit of blame on Local 1904 for failing to deliver for their members (and those of us who they “represent” against our will) and for continuing to stand in the way like some bloody great, utterly misguided roadblock. No one’s interest is served by their continued intransigence. The elected “leaders” of AFGE Local 1904 should be embarrassed and ashamed of themselves.

2. Vacation. Time off is supposed to be restful and restorative. Maybe it was in the moment, but it’s sure as hell not feeling anything like that now. Whatever positive effects there were wore plumb away within 30 or 45 minutes of signing on and downloading my hundred or so missed messages… and then we were off and running with an endless stream of random questions, meetings that didn’t meet, and trying not to let my facial expression say everything that my mouth shouldn’t. Once again, we’re down to being motivated entirely by the knowledge that I would well and truly suck at living under a bridge. 

3. Dog food. Jorah eats a pretty middle of the road diet of dry kibble. It’s not some kind of wacky raw, freeze dried, refrigerated, new age-y stuff and it’s not the 50 pound bag of whatever Ol’ Roy serves up passing as dog food. With that said, my regular Chewy order just shipped and I got an email thanking me for my $80 purchase. That’s a 35 pound bag of food that I distinctly remember being able to purchase not terribly long ago for about $50. I get the whole inflationary environment – and probably only notice the dog’s food because I only buy it once every five weeks or so instead of my own grocery bills that wash through, mostly unnoticed, on a weekly basis. I didn’t have the heart to look at what the next shipment of the cat’s canned food is going to cost. It’ll be just as eye-watering and will be just as much a “must pay” budget item. If it turns out I ever go bankrupt, rest assured, it will be on the back on the expenses accrued to sustain these furry little bastards that live rent free in my home.