Labor Day
Good morning! It is Labor Day. We can now wear white shoes–or can we? That always hopelessly confuses me. It’s why I always wear black.
First of all, thank you to the workers and the agitators, the victims and the fighters, the saints and the sinners who worked their asses off to give us better pay, the eight-hour day, benefits, and worker’s rights over the objections of greedy corporate interests. To every worker who refused to put up with being treated like a piece of meat, God bless you. We stand on the shoulders of your accomplishments.
And this Labor Day my prayer and hope is for the rest of us to take it as self-evident that a man or woman who wants to work deserves a job that provides a decent living wage, a safe working environment, and the benefit of health and disability insurance, not to mention a decent retirement honoring their lifetime contribution when they can no longer work.
Things have been a wee bit unsettled a la Casa Saintcrow. Finishing the Valentine series was rough, and I suspect I did not give myself enough time to snap back and heal. Plus there’s been Family Stuff, between stalkers and hospitals, that has needed dealing with. Not to mention a set-to with a few people about just how exactly I expect to be treated.
You see, dear Reader, I don’t mind being called a bitch. I don’t mind if people think I’m a horrible person, of if they think I’m too aggressive for a female. I really don’t give a damn if they think I’m going to hell, either.
But one thing I do not abide is someone thinking I am weak or stupid and therefore easily manipulable.
Just because I don’t say anything doesn’t mean I don’t notice when someone is trying to bamboozle, manipulate, or put one over on me. Just because I choose to let them have what they want because it doesn’t matter to me doesn’t mean I don’t notice. And just because I am normally calm and capable of using conflict-resolution strategies instead of brute force doesn’t mean I am incapable of kicking your ass when you mess with me, should I decide the occasion requires it.
So far a few people have been adrift in the sheltered harbor of my patience. However, that is about to come to an end. I expect to be treated with a modicum of decency and manners, and just because these people make it a habit of being asshats when their victim is a child or someone who can’t fight back doesn’t mean they can treat me in such a manner.
Especially when I don’t need a single thing from them, and could happily go the rest of my life without talking to them ever again.
So this Labor Day, for me, is all about bring not quite mad as hell but irritated and inconvenienced, and I am just plain not going to take it any more. Oh, I’ll be calm and adult and as compassionate as I should be. I just am not going to put up with one single ounce more of crap. I have more than enough spleen and backbone to deal with idiots who pick on children and the weak instead of johnnyboys their own size.
Should the hedge of your life require such pruning as well, dear Reader, feel free to borrow some of my spleen. It’s free, and I can always produce more. It’s kind of a family trait, I guess. *wicked grin*
Happy Labor Day!
Related posts:
