Work creeps in at the Cottage

There I was, my feet firmly dipped into the water and the inner protests started. I don’t want to go back to work. The endless paperwork, the new label for our guys (they went from clients to tenants, to consumers (I am glad that consumers didn’t stick because it sounded as if they consumed everything in their path including our souls) and now they are customers), the new pod business model (we are all interchangeable parts), going from Residential Counsellor III to Service Worker III (only three groups SWI, SWII, SWIII – no identifying distinctions within the groups), another work funeral, end of the month stuff and somewhere buried in all the revolutionary new way of working is the main reason to go back to work – the gang. The water gently laps on to the shore and the birds are singing not at all concerned about the what to do about the new med administration sheets. As the weekend draws to a close work seems to intrude more harshly with each passing moment. I try desperately to keep that inner calm and peace that the cottage brings but there is packing to finish and the long trip back.