In third grade, a friend on my street had a big birthday party. All the kids were running around wild, and I was still sitting at the table with half of my piece of cake and a third of my ice cream uneaten. The mom asked me if I were done. I said that both were delicious, but that I can’t eat a lot of sweets if I don’t have a lot of regular food first. I remember her being very surprised while a couple of kids flew by with sugar highs, but that’s how I’ve always been. Having pancakes for breakfast without some kind of solid-feeling food, like an egg or potatoes (or borscht or fried clams or eggplant parmesan), just feels weird to me.

Last night, I pulled up the posting for my job on our organization’s website. Imagine my delight in seeing that, although we are constantly being told that we’re in financial hardship, it pays $1,000 more than I’m making.

The director told me the other day that I’m the best employee they ever had. Imagine how the next person will be—my value plus $1,000!

My boss continues to shower me with sugary compliments, too.

Eight more days working at a place with no support, fairness, or professionalism.

Enough.

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