The pastor is in his office telling personal stories that make other people uncomfortable right now. His sister died of kidney disease after a long history of drug abuse and her husband cheating on her. It’s sad. And it’s sad that he’s still sad enough, more than a decade later, that he spills this story onto the unsuspecting laps of others. Mostly, though, I just want to go in an rescue this poor woman who mentioned that her husband is awaiting a kidney transplant and is now listening to his macabre recitation.

The church, as I’ve mentioned before, is becoming a host site for an early childhood program for the children of teen moms. As I’ve also mentioned before, it’s generating a fair amount of extra work for me. The pastor believes he can willfully ignore this extra work I’m doing and it will somehow go away. A mechanism of this is simply not telling me anything. As a result, when people call–program employees, workmen on the remodel, etc–looking for information I have none and look totally inept. It’s delightful. I’m typing a lookit, this won’t fly email to him now. I’d talk to him face to face, but whenever I have these conversations face to face he gets defensive and says sorry, sorry, sorry in a simpering voice. It makes me want to yell at him. Which is a problem. Ah, email.

I am also trying to have a conversation in which I explain that he won’t be the person performing my sister’s wedding. I don’t believe this is part of my job as either the secretary here or as maid of honor. But my family does. Wheeee.

Sunday I have to be at the church at eight to go on a visit to another church whose youth program we may learn meaningful tidbits from. I had plans for Sunday. I had a Sunday school class to teach. But, for this I shall drop everything and inconvenience myself, my students, and my friends. I look forward to it.

And, the people who are going to paint the sanctuary just dropped off an estimate. I still want to know why anyone would bid for jobs in his painting clothes, especially if those clothes are super short shorts. It will cost half my annual salary for this guy to paint the place. I could literally be making more money working at McDonalds, and this is because the church is so financially strapped. But painting the sanctuary a new color. That’s a fucking priority.

My parents are trying to get me to apply for a job as an assistant to the secretary to a CEO of a company that has a terrible record of union-busting and worker safety violations. I have no idea why I would want a job as an assistant to an assistant at such a company, however much I might want the money. Instead, I’m applying for a couple of fund-raising and pr positions with the Red Cross and the American Cancer Society. Here’s hoping one of those will pan out.

Otherwise, I swear I’m going to start taking money from the offering plate and spending it on a big bottle of bourbon for my desk drawer.

Blargh.

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