I don't feel it, but I think they're peeing on me

Today is Sunday. Oh, Sunday. The day of sipping coffee while watching CBS Sunday Morning. The day of thinking about doing yard work and not quite getting the motivation to do it. And of course, the growing dispair as Monday morning creeps ever closer. Not that I hate my job. Like most people, I think, I just don't love it. I cringe when Oprah preaches to "follow your passion" or "do what you love." Geez, I'm trying. But noone will hire me to talk to my friends on the phone and take naps with my dog. But I check the paper just to be sure.

Tomorrow morning I will have to enter my tetosterone charged work place and try and get my work done without feeling like a pee-on. This is a constant struggle. I admit I am in somewhat of a support role. Ok, not "somewhat". I am in a support role. But if you think about it, anyone who's not the big boss is supporting someone else. But my job title does include the word "Assistant." Therefore, I am forever delegated to do shit that takes longer for my superiors to ask me to do, than it would take for them to do themselves. Oh, the world called "Adminstrative."

I have been trying to emerge out of this world. Even with just semantics. I have been thinking of launching a campaign to change my job title. Right now, I am "Operations Assistant" and my boss is the "Operations Manager." I have been trying to wrestle up the nerve to ask her if I might become the "Assistant Manager of Operations" or "Assistant Operations Manager."

Just want to sqeeze that "manager" in there somewhere. PLEASE BOSS?! I'll still fax! I'll still call people to say your going to be late! I'll still file the 6 months worth of crap you let build up in your office, which causes me to rotate the ENTIRE archival system! Just feed my little ego a little. That one little word in my title will help ease the fear that at any moment, you can get on the phone and find a suitable replacement by calling Uni-Temps or Staffing-Now or Young-Women-Who-Can-Type-Fast-And-Handle-Multi-Line-Phone-Systems.

I have institutional knowledge, God Dammit! I can't complain too much. I get a pretty decent wage for what I do and where I live. I suppose it's just my ego needing a caress or two. Vanity, it's a bitch. I suppose it all boils down to wanting to say something impressive at cocktail parties when asked, "So what do you do?" From now on, I think I'm "Vice President of Communications." After all, no one else knows how to work the fax machine.