1. I have a new job. Well, not a new job per se, but a new contract. A lovely, long term, stable contract. Tenure track. Serenity. With that new job, however, comes new responsibilities and new expectations. Establishing a research program, supervising graduate students. No more money though. But security is priceless.
2. I have, under my academic tutelage, about 600 nursing or pre-nursing students who take up a surprising amount of time. You wouldn’t thing that several hundred 18 or 19 year old (mostly) girls would be that high maintenance, but by jiminy they are. Don’t get me wrong, they’re lovely. After a couple of semesters of teaching them, I’m absolutely enchanted with my charges. They aren’t the most academically rigourous students in the world, but they’ve signed on to do what has to be one of the toughest jobs in the world and they’re great fun to teach. And the lecture halls smell much better after the nursing students have been in there then some of the more co-educational courses. But, man do they require a lot of attention around exam time. I’m glad we’re in the waning days of the semester and three months of summer break is on the horizon.
3. I’m writing a book. Well, not a book per se, but some chapters in a text book. Chapters that I’ve had six weeks to do before the due date (Monday) and decided to start approximately two days ago. In fact, what the hell am I doing right now? I should be writing about intracellular signalling.
4. I have two kids under four and a puppy. Enough said.
5. (Deep breaths). We’re buying a house. I know people buy houses every day. Well, maybe not anymore in the U.S., but in much of the world I know people buy houses every day. But when our landlords told us they we’re selling our house and Dr. O’C decided it was time to get on that mythical property ladder, my stomach spontaneously twisted itself into a knot that I can’t seem to untie. We went through weeks of looking at horrible overpriced houses – the property market hasn’t dropped out in Australia – weeks of debate about passable houses. Then, one weekend we shuffled into the house. The only one that we both loved. Then there were weeks of haggling and hair pulling with the estate agent from hell. But today, the contract is signed, the loan is approved and we’re on the verge of being homeowners.

I think I’m as frightened as I am excited.

Those of you who are locals and recognise today’s song of the day, which has been on an endless loop in my head for the last few weeks, may be able to work out the neck of the woods in which we’ll be laying our head in a few short weeks.

Well, that’s my litany of excuses. I don’t know if I’m back for good or just popping my head up for a quick hello. Either way, in the words of the Fresh Prince, I might as well kick it.

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“The  Very Best of D.J. Jazzy Jeff & The Fresh Prince” is available from  .

Today is also the first day of Autumn in Australia and appropriately the first day of a new semester. I spent a good part of the summer herding failing nursing students through their first and second year subjects and most of the one week break between semesters listening to twice-failed nursing students beg for mercy. The new semester is going to be a bear. A grizzly. A kodiak. I’m involved in teaching six different courses. Those of you who teach secondary school will have little sympathy for me, but for a delicate university lecturer this is a crippling load. I’m also taking a couple of courses for my back up plan.

I recently started working toward a back up plan B, which involves me keeping the job I’m in by doing what the university wants me to do – produce research and research money. I’ve started tinkering around in an immunology lab, hoping to pull some quick publications out of my…hat. I’m not an immunologist. But I’m also not a pathologist and that hasn’t stopped me teaching pathology, nor has the fact that I’m not an anatomist stopped me teaching anatomy. Etc. My real enemy is the time, or lack therof, in the day to fit in all these back up plans as well as doing the job for which I was hired. I fear that things are going to start to suffer. Like this blog.

What the hell? This was supposed to be about Not Max and here I am blathering on about me. Shut up, Chris.

Happy un-birthday, boy #2, the neglected one, laughing boy. Keep working at it and you’re bound to get you father’s attention over the next six months.

Finally,  I couldn’t resist this photo of Boy Z. He’s learned to trust his cape.

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This is the second track from R.E.M.’s 2001 album “Reveal”. I’ve never thought of it a a great R.E.M. album, but it’s sounded pretty good this summer. As an aside, one of my students told me that R.E.M. was “old people’s music” last week, to which I responded with a suggestion that she could kiss my backside.  R.E.M.’s “Reveal” is available from .

Thursday morning, my Head of School knocked on the door of my office as I was taking off my coat. I invited him in to have a seat and the solemn look on his face nearly made me wilt. I’ve been living on annual contracts with the university since I got here and October is contract renewal time. They seem to like me around here because this year they basically created a new position for me, wrote the job description to suit my experience. But the position had to be advertised and based on my Head’s cloudy demeanor, I thought that maybe that had found someone more me than me.

I guess he was just having a bad morning, or perhaps was employing that notorious arid Australian wit, because the news he had for me was all good. I’ve got another year of teaching work at the university. Another year doing a job I love. A year to begin activation of my master back up plan.

However, things are going to be a little bit different for your favorite university lecturer.

I’m going to be teaching nursing students.

I was trained as a plant geneticist.

Dr. O’C’s Mum put it best when she asked me the question that has been ringing around my head since I heard I would be teaching nurses:

“Teaching them what?”

You’ve got to love mothers-in-law. Even when they aren’t legal.

Short answer, Anatomy and Physiology. I’ve never taken Anatomy & Physiology. I dissected a frog in high school biology. Or a fetal pig. I can’t remember. I did, however, take Plant Anatomy as an undergraduate.

If you end up in hospital in South Australia in a couple of years, it may be a good idea to ask your nurse who her Anatomy & Physiology professor was before you let them start poking around at what they think is your ‘kidney’.

My favorite part of this new position? The university runs a couple of small regional campuses out in country South Australia. Next semester, I’ll be sent out once a week to one of these campuses. By plane. When I heard that I had visions of flying out over the Outback in a single engine prop plane to bring the light of education to eager scantily clad natives. If not a Royal Flying Doctor at least the guy who trains the Royal Flying Nurses.

In reality, it’s probably more like a regional commuter flight to deliver a two hour lecture on the integumentary system to some bored miners’ kids in Whyalla.

Still and all, beats working for a living.

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Image credits:

University

Nurse

Royal Flying Doctors

This live version of The White Stripes’ “The Nurse” comes from the performance at Glastonbury 2005. The original is from the brilliant “Get Behind Me Satan”, available from .

But I’m also a teacher. And – without pretense or arrogance - I’m a pretty good one. With a text book, a laser pointer, Microsoft PowerPoint and a week or so to prepare, I can whip up a decent lecture on pretty much any topic. I can stand at the front of a lecture hall and drill the salient points home. I can amuse and inform. As a frequent public speaker, I know all the tricks to charm a crowd. In my experience, that’s the biggest hurdle to being an effective teacher at the university level. I’ve spent the last few years figuring out how to get to 18 – 21 year olds and what it means is that I do my job well.

And, in the last year and a bit, I’ve realized that I absolutely love it. I love the university environment. The independence that comes with my position, the manicured university campus, the constant interaction with keen and bright young adults. It is an invigorating work environment and one that I’m cherishing on a daily basis.

When I decided to do a Ph.D. it was because I wanted to be a university professor. I idolized some of the people who taught me in university. The political science professor that showed me the benefits of socialism and Left wing politics. The Southern Literature professor that taught the dark beauty of the Southern Gothic. A young physicist who nearly peeled me away from the life sciences. The University of Georgia geneticist who was able to express her passion for maize genetics in such a way that it became my ambition to study the same thing. And my Ph.D. supervisors – two of the smartest geneticists I’ve met to date - who enabled me to turn that ambition into a teaching position here in Australia.

The problem is that mine is a temporary position. The reality of the modern university is that the ‘teacher’ is a dying breed. Faculty members – lecturers – have to keep their feet planted firmly in two camps – research and teaching. Research brings the money in, research brings the news attention and thus more money, research keeps the government happy. And thus, more money. Teaching – at most major universities – is a necessary nuisance that  interferes with faculty research.

One of the many things I learned during my time at Oxford is that I’m not a very good researcher. I’m not driven by that aspect of science. I don’t enjoy doing it and I’m not good at it. When I started at my current university it was made clear – and fairly so – that unless I was willing to do the work to get a research program up and running that my appointment would be only temporary. The university was happy with my work, however, and they gave me another year. They are still happy with my work and I hope they’re going to give me one more.

That’s what this semester is all about – the voluntary extra work - convincing my employer that this is a fundamental truth and that they need to keep me around. My contract comes to an end at the end of the year. Again. And again I need an extension, another year.

Always in the back of my mind, I’ve had to deal with the axe that is waiting somewhere down the road. If it doesn’t come after this year, it will almost definitely come after next. There are a couple of other universities in town and some technical schools as well, but at some point the tertiary teaching well is going to run dry. I’ve spent the last year or so trying to come up with a long term plan. I flirted with industry – a relationship that didn’t go very well. I’m a born public servant, I’m afraid. I’ve toyed with going back and getting an M.B.A. – to maximize my potential for the biotech industry, but I just don’t have the cutthroat tempermant to excel in the business world. I’ve thought about trying to find a way to write for a living, but I’ve got a family to support these days and I’m not in a position to take a lot of risks.

So, ignoring advice from my attorney, I’ve decided to start working toward my certification as a secondary school teacher - yep, after two degrees down I get to go back to school again. I’m not sure how I feel about teaching high school. I’ve heard mixed reports. But if I’m going to be a teacher with a stable job, chances are it is going to have to be in a high school.

If nothing else, it will be an adventure.

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Image credits:

Socrates

Other images courtesy of BlogHer’s PicApp.

Leonard Cohen is just flat out the man. His ‘Songs of Leonard Cohen’ is available from .

Why can’t life be straightforward? Why can’t it be what I perceive it to be – a gently upward sloping line?

I swear that this isn’t turning into a blog about my jobs. But I feel as if I’ve dragged a lot of you along with me on this melodramatic trip up and down my personal career ladder and if you’ve come along this far, you may as well stay to the end. If your tired of it, then go with god. Have a good weekend.

I’m tired of it. I thought it was over. Bad job quit. Done. Move onwards and upwards. But there is that niggling detail of the four weeks notice period (turns out it’s actually two weeks).

I walked into work today, for the first time since my resignation, just cold dreading the day. That dread got worse when I found out that I had a meeting with the CEO. I assumed that he was angry about the things I said in my resignation letter and wanted to give me an earful.

It started out that way and I stood up to him because I just don’t care. I tried to explain exactly what my problems were with the company, with management, why I had felt that I had no choice but to quit. I got to say my piece. I let him say his. Somewhere along the line, however, the tone conversation changed.

I realized that he wanted me to stay. I don’t really know why. The meeting ended with him  suggesting that maybe I could stay on with hours of my choosing and some of my concerns sorted. He suggested that maybe I could stay on as a type of independent contractor. But above all, he made it clear that he values me as an employee and wants me to stay with the company. 

Damn it.

I left him with the assurance that I would think about it over the weekend. And I will. I don’t really want to work for them in the way that I was. I don’t really want to work for them at all. I had come to terms with leaving that job behind and, as you may have read in my last post, was feeling good.

But stay on in a freelance capacity? As an independent contractor? I don’t know. 

Why can’t life be easy?

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All of these things kind of cease to matter when I get home and it’s time to dance with Boy Z. You really can dance your cares away – a good song for doing so is this one by Page & Plant. The cover of “My Bucket’s Got A Hole In It” comes from “Good Rockin’ Tonight: The Legacy of Sun Records” the 2001 tribute to Sam Phillips’s legendary Memphis label featuring all manner of rock and roll greats. Buy the album from Amazon.

But then I realized that one of my selves was a moron, because what is my blog about if not me? For reasons that I still don’t understand, a lot of you are interested in what goes on in the life of a fairly average guy who is teetering on middle age. I realized that I couldn’t get away with a throwaway line at the end of a post about antenatal music after writing a rant about the shiteness of my job a week earlier.

I had no intention of quitting my job yesterday. Things had actually been going OK for the last week. Upper management was leaving me be – staying out of my way and letting me do my job.

But I came in on Monday to find my line manager on holiday this week which left me reporting directly to the maniacally micro-managing VP. We had a workman coming to service our heater at home today and I told her that I needed to work from home – a common scenario. The job I do there, scientific writing, is tailor made for working remotely. She initially said OK, but half an hour later came downstairs and said that she “couldn’t help me this time.” I was initially unsure what she was talking about as I wasn’t actually asking for help. But as it sunk in, that confusion quickly turned into a barely containable blinding white fury.

I was so angry that I was shaking. But I managed to restrain the tone and volume of my voice as I expressed my dissatisfaction with this situation. I explained that I had been working from home since I started with the company. I explained that the only thing that made this job workable for me was the flexibility regarding hours and location. I said that I had a decision to make and would let her know by the end of the day.

It might seem trivial to you, quitting because the company wouldn’t let me work from home, but the only way that this two job arrangement ever worked was flexibility on the part of both employers. There are all sorts of reasons why this particular incident was the proverbial back breaking straw, but ultimately this decision – whatever the reasons for it – made it impossible for me to continue to work two jobs. In a choice between a job doing work that I love for people I respect and a job doing work that I love for people I loathe, well there’s no decision.

I had already made the decision to leave and would have quit right then but for two things. First, I had to make sure that Dr. O’C approved. She did. Second, conveniently, I had a performance review at the university yesterday afternoon. I needed to make sure they weren’t going to sack me. They weren’t.

After my meeting with the university, I went back to my writing job and rang the VP and told her that I quit- to consider this my four weeks notice – and I drafted a letter:

• I told them why I was quitting.
• I reminded them that we had made a gentleman’s agreement when I started regarding working remotely and that I was disappointed that they couldn’t hold up their end of that gentleman’s agreement.
• I reminded them that this arrangement had been extremely beneficial to them when I was working late at night and on weekends in order to finish projects on arbitrary and hastily established deadlines.
• I told them that this incident and some others in the last few weeks led me to conclude that they were questioning my integrity and that this was insulting and demeaning.
• I told them that the culture of blame endemic in the organization had turned what had begun as a dream job for me into a job that I could no longer tolerate.

I pressed ‘Send’ and walked away.

On the bus about halfway home I got a call from our receptionist. She apologized and said that the CEO needed me to come back and sign a report that had to be released that day.

I laughed. Long and low and free.

“(Receptionist), tell (CEO) that I said to go fuck himself.”

Am I relieved? Yes. Euphoric? No. I spent the day so wound up in emotion that by the time I got home, I was just exhausted. Today is definitely brighter, however. There is a weight off my shoulders that seems to have cured the low level headache that has plagued me for the last couple of months. My head feels clearer and my spirit lighter.

I feel neither regret nor fear of the future. Because no matter what happens, Dr. O’C, Boy Z and I will be OK. There’s something that has become clear to me in the last few years – life gets better. Regardless of little peaks and valleys, there is a steady upward trajectory. Leaving this job opens the door to the next opportunity, one that will almost certainly be better than the one that preceded it. I can’t wait.

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Buy Nirvana’s “In Utero” from .

Image credits:

Walk Away 1

Walk Away 2

I quit.

As a general rule, I try to avoid getting sucked into comment stream dramas – mostly because I have better things to do with life. In most cases, I don’t even go back to a post after I’ve left a comment, just in case I’ve inadvertantly started something.

I should stick with that rule.

Dr. O’C is fully responsible for this one. Be forewarned – I’ve got no music no, cute pictures for this one – just a pretty heated rant. If you’re looking for shiny and happy on this Friday it may be best to move on…

A couple of days ago, I read a post on a friend’s blog. I don’t want to name the blog, I don’t want to suck her into this rant. She was writing about the tough time she was having finding a day care for her little girl. I’ve been there and was trying to make a friend feel better about a tough parental transition, so I said:

I don’t agree with Free Man. There are sacrifices you have to make for your children to be with you but living on one income is certainly possible! (Husband) is in the Army and doesn’t make that much and we live VERY comfortably! I am at home with our three children everyday. I feel bad for people who REALLY can’t do the SAHM thing but there are a lot of families out there that could if they cut back on expenses and prioritized their lives.
I am sure (Blogger) would have preferred to wait until she was out of (City) to have (her baby) but because of her health situation decided to have her while she was still able. Unfortunately (her baby) will be missing her Mommy during the first 2 years of her life but maybe you can come home to be with her full time when you get out of that expensive place! At least its just 3 days a week.
I worked at a day care for a month and HATED it. Watching the kids scream and cry and constantly ask where their mommy and daddy were was just heartbreaking and watching the parents disappointment when the child WOULDN’T respond when they were leaving was sad too. Even when we distracted the child long enough for the parents to leave, they would cry their eyeballs out at some point during the day wondering why mommy and daddy left them there.

And I have to disagree with you on the socialization thing. Babies don’t need other babies or people, she needs YOU (Blogger)! I wish you were able to put that career thing aside for her.

oh and free man, My kids have everything they need, over abundance of clothing, toys, friends, food, parents, pets, and even college paid for so I am not sure what else a child could NEED. And even if they didn’t have the college thing, I think paying your own way through college certainly builds better character and you have more to be proud of and appreciate if you get yourself through it.

Right. I’ve been watching the whole series of The Sopranos over again, so when Dr. O’C read this to me, my immediate response was a suggestion that this person engage in a type of auto-erotic behavior that’s technically impossible.

And I really wanted to leave it alone.

But, you know what, I’m not going to.

First of all, if you’re a stay at home parent, I’ve got the utmost respect for you. That’s fantastic and I hope you’re finding it rewarding both for yourself and your children. Honestly – goodonya. I want it to be clear – I do not have a problem with stay-at-home parents in general. Just this one.

Some people don’t want to put their lives on hold for five or more years (assuming you start work after the kids go to school). Some people don’t want to put the ‘career thing’ aside for their kids. This particular blogger, like myself and Dr. O’C, spent close to a decade in tertiary education and we didn’t do this much education to drop out of the workplace as soon as we bred. We believe that you can balance parenting and a career.

Does that make us bad parents?

Speaking for myself and Dr. O’C, we’ve worked hard to integrate our roles as parents and providers. Dr. O’C stayed home with Boy Z for nearly his whole first year – longer than anticipated. She breastfed for nine months. We worked very hard to find a good daycare for him. We arrange our schedules so that Zach spends as little time as possible each day in day care, at the expense of time spent together. I work odd hours and weekends and from home to make sure he’s at home with me for at least one weekday on top of the weekends. I value virtually every moment I’ve got with my son.

Does that make us bad parents?

It’s not about expensive toys – don’t be stupid. We’re not spending money like drunken Republicans. We’ve emigrated around the world and need the income to afford to buy a house in which to raise our children, but it’s not even about money. When I say that it isn’t the 1950’s I mean that the black and white, soft focus Cleaver clan isn’t the norm these days. Gender roles have changed. Women often want more out of life than staying at home baking cookies and popping valium. Both Dr. O’C and I are professional people. We’re well educated people. We want the best for our kids just the same as anyone else does. But I believe that children who are raised by a healthy and happy couple are more likely to be healthy and happy. Neither Dr. O’C nor I would be healthy and happy if we gave up careers that we busted our asses for to stay home with kids. Our kids will be raised in a household that values education, hard work and happiness and will know that the three are not mutually exclusive.

Does that make us bad parents?

Children are not the center of the universe. In fact, giving a child the impression that the world revolves around him or her is very possibly the best way to create a spoiled little monster. Kids need perspective on the world, they need to learn about how to socialize with their peers and people other than their parents. Day care affords them this opportunity. I’ve seen it in Boy Z. When he started day care he was petrified of anyone who wasn’t me or Dr. O’C. In the time he’s spent in day care, he’s developing into a much more outgoing child. Now, I’m sure that kids that stay at home do just fine, but I’m equally sure that kids who go to daycare do just fine.

Does that make me a bad parent?

But what annoyed me the most about this is the arrogance of this commentator. She worked in a day care center for a month and thus is an expert on children in day care? She feels bad for people who can’t do the stay at home parent thing? She’s sure that my friend’s kid will be missing her Mommy? What about her Daddy? Won’t she miss her Daddy? She hopes that my friend puts the career-thing aside? She knows how my friend’s child – how my child- is going to respond to day care? Does she get some kind of thrill by trolling around the internet making people feel like bad parents?

Despite my occasional wringing of hands and fears of inadequacies I know that I’m a good dad. I’m a damn good dad. Dr. O’C is a damn good mum. We work hard to make sure our son is happy, healthy and well-adjusted. And we’re doing a damn good job at it – day care or no day care.

Well, Jud, I’ve got a job that I hate but can’t quit. In my second job, I’m spending my weekends busting my ass to get lectures done that my undergraduates yawn through. I’ve got a sick kid and sick partner and have been cleaning up far too much effluvia this week. I’ve got an ache in my back and I’m starting to feel a bit under the weather myself. While working on my latest lecture about inherited diseases, I’ve discovered that I almost definitely have one or more of them.

And I got a rash so bad on my ass, I can’t even sit down.*

Maybe I’m just reaching that age at which the transition between virile young buck and grumpy old man begins. There have been a few incidents this week that lead me to believe that I may start yelling at the neighborhood kids to get off of my lawn any moment now. Actually, what’s that little brat doing out there in my garden…

As the radio at work burst forth with something that sounded more like a ring tone than what I would consider a song, I began bemoaning the lack of anything decent on the radio to my office mate. She immediately pounced, declaring this as evidence of my ‘grumpy old man”-hood. That I just didn’t ‘get’ modern pop. All my protestations that it had nothing to do with age, but with the quality of the music on the radio were met with derisive snorts and impressions of a hunched old man walking around with a cane. I explained that I’m quite ‘with-it’, that I’m down with cool music, but to every defense of my coolness she came up with another comment about my advancing years.

Did I mention that one of the only things I like about my writing job is my coworkers? Scratch that.

I do have some evidence, despite what my work colleagues may tell you, that I’m down with the kids. This weekend is the daughter of Arizaphale’s 14th birthday dinner. We’ve been invited because the BA, as she’s known, recognizes just how hip I am. She has remarkably good taste in music for one so young, so I thought I’d pick up a couple of CDs for her from my local independent record shop. (Two strikes against me, I know – CDs and record shops.) I chose a couple of older albums that I thought she might like – R.E.M.’s “New Adventures in Hi Fi”, which I think is that band’s best post-IRS offering, and Radiohead’s “OK Computer”. As I was checking out, I had a glance at the release dates of the albums – 1996 and ‘97 respectively. The BA would have been in nappies when I was discovering these albums. She would have been learning to toddle about as I singing along to ‘Karma Police’ and ‘The Wake-up Bomb’. In the BA’s eyes, this stuff is classic rock.

It’s not just music I’m struggling with, this new fangled technology is giving me trouble as well. Rassles’ tale of an  experience at the telephone store reminded me of a recent struggle I had with some fancy telephonic equipment.

I got a new mobile phone recently and, against my better judgment, went for the latest posh, whiz-bang model. Touch screen, doo dads galore, the kind of phone that will pretty much do everything for you short of cooking you dinner and tucking you into bed at night.

I don’t know how to use it. I’ve done everything, even resorting to that very un-manly activity of reading the instructions. But I still struggle to even answer the damn thing, nevermind sending a text message.

The scene: my lecture last Friday. Maybe it was some kind of karmic response to the speech I gave at the beginning of class berating my students for being too lazy to take notes. Maybe it’s because I actually used the words ‘back in my day…”

Whatever the reason, almost as soon as I started my lecture my pocket started tinkling and tittering with the most godawful digital ‘music’. I was astute enough to identify the phone as the source of the noise, but completely powerless to do anything about it.

There was a chorus of giggles as I haplessly tapped and poked at the damn thing.

Finally, one of my female students piped up:

“Chris, is that a Samsung XLHG-72293-Toucho-Mucho-Grasso?” (Yes, they call me Chris rather than Dr. – I get no respect.)

“Uh,” looking frantically for make and model of phone, “could be.”

“Do you want me to fix it for you?”

Gratefully, I passed it along to my student who restored blessed quiet with a couple of taps.

“Do you want me to turn it to silent?”

“Uh. Maybe not, I don’t know if I could, um, ‘unsilent’ it.”

To which my student rolled her eyes and handed my phone back.

These kids today have no respect for their lecturers. Back in my day we treated university lecturers with equal parts awe and fear. These days, a casual disdain.

Bastard kids.

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* Name that film.

Musical collective Kicksville have been releasing a series of digital-only singles available for purchase from Ropeadope Digital. The singles, compiled as “Season 1″ and “Season 2″ include Kicksville originals as well as covers of The Police, Willie Dixon, and Talking Heads. This track, appropriate to today’s post, features the voice of depression era poet John Beecher. Check out more from Kicksville at their website or .

Image credits:

Get off of my lawn

Senile dementia

Little professor

Yet.

I’m writing this at work (screw ‘em), and there are still a couple of hours before I leave for the day, so things could change yet. Basically if the upper management leave me alone today – let me listen to Coltrane and get on with my work -  I’ll make it through another day.

If a single one of them comes down stairs and says a word to me, I’ll probably walk out.

I figured out how much money I make a minute (50 cents) and I’m tallying it as I go through the day. Ninety minutes and I can buy Season 1 of ‘Gossip Girl’ on DVD – Dr.O’C’s addicted, certainly not a butch guy like me.

I want to thank you all for your well reasoned comments on yesterday’s post. I find it amazing that people who (for the most part) have never met me are willing to take the time to read and give me thoughtful advice. All of it was helpful and gave me food for thought. I suck at making decisions – and still haven’t made one – but thank you all for your help with my continued indecision.

In short, you guys are awesome.

Among all the outstanding advice, two statements really hit home for me yesterday. The first, from Damon, nearly tipped me over the edge in favor of walking in today and telling them exactly where to put their job:

My point? Don’t compromise your integrity for a job or for a few extra dollars especially when you know that NO one has your back and will put the blame on you in a heartbeat. It only takes a fraction of a second to cross the line.

But the second, from Andrea (showing remarkable insight for a Canadian), slowed me down:

I think if you up and quit now you’ll experience immediate satisfaction and happiness, which will shortly be followed by guilt, stress, angst, what-have-you. Not worth it for you and definitely not worth it for the family.

I had been building myself up for the excitement and relief of giving my notice, of the feeling of liberation that I knew would follow. But I think Andrea’s right, I think that would pass – everything does – and I don’t know what would have replaced the elation.

And it’s best not to push a pregnant woman.

I am setting some boundaries. If I’m asked to lie again, I’ll refuse. I’m reducing my hours – we really do not need the money – so I can invest some more time in the university. I’m going to try to find out if there’s a way to extend my contract there. As a lot of you pointed out, in a pinch research would be better than my current soul-sucking job. I’m going to put every cent that I earn here into savings, so when it does all come to a head – which it will – we’ll have that much more of a nest egg.

I don’t know how much longer I’ll last, but I made it through the day. And that’s all I’ve got to do today.

Look at that, it’s the end of the day. And the beginning of the weekend. A bus ride home and this…

Thanks again, y’all rock! Have a great weekend.

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I’m in a jazzy mood this week. John Coltrane’s “Giant Steps” is just a masterpiece. Buy it now from .

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Giant Steps

Many of you know that I work two jobs. Nearly a year ago, a couple of months after our arrival in Australia, I took a part time job as a scientific writer for a company that is loosely a part of the pharmaceutical industry. Shortly thereafter, I was offered a short-term lectureship at a local university. I figured I could do a job and a half for a little while especially since Dr. O’C hadn’t found one yet.

Well, the company folks liked my writing and increased my hours. The university liked my teaching and asked me for another year. Again, I figured that I could do both for a finite period of time. The university contract was finite and the writing job seemed to be going places, so what the hell. And I have managed for about six months of so.

But things are becoming unmanageable.

I’m not comfortable getting into specifics – there’s a scary confidentiality clause in my writing contract. But to put things simply, the writing job is driving me pretty quickly insane. Here are some of the reasons:

1. The founder and CEO of the company is an insufferable bully.
2. His wife, and the CFO, is a passive aggressive sneak.
3. The VP in charge of operations is a maniacal micro-manager.
4. The company is infected with a demoralizing culture of blame. You never know from day-to-day whether you will be on the spot for losing a contract that you had nothing to do with.
5. The management is quick with criticism but loathe to squeeze out a compliment.
6. Company policies change with the whims of the husband-wife team that run the place.
7. I’ve been asked on multiple occasions to fudge data or to lie on reports.
8. When those inconsistencies have been caught by QA or a client, I’ve gotten the blame.
9. There is no opportunity for advancement within the company. The always do outside hires. Largely because their current employees are dissatisfied and demoralized.
10. The company is as tight as a duck’s ass when it comes to pay rises, but flies upper management around the world first class.

I could go on, but shan’t. All of these things are very disappointing, because this was a dream job for me. I’ve always wanted to work as a writer – even a scientific writer. When you take away the office politics and all the other garbage,  I love the work. My coworkers are great fun and the job affords a flexibility (or did until recently) that really suits my lifestyle.

But I can’t take it anymore. I’m beaten. This isn’t the first time I’ve complained. I’ve stood up for myself – fought the power. But I’m tired. That list above just keeps getting longer. Yesterday for example, the passive aggressive CFO suggested that I had been lying about my hours. (I haven’t been, but maybe should have been). There’s a paranoid voice in my head telling me that they’re trying to get rid of me. No company could be this disfunctional,could treat its employees with such contempt. If they are trying to get rid of me, then well done.

I’ve called in sick today because I’m 100% certain that I’ll quit if I go into the office and I want another day to think things through.

My number one priority is to support my family. But even without this job, I’ll still be pulling in a full-time salary from the university. At least through the end of the year.

Dr. O’C’s valid concern is that after my contract is up with the university, chances are that I will be jobless. The university is extremely unlikely to offer me further employment unless I establish a research program – something in which I have absolutely zero interest. She worries that, in this economic clime, we may find ourselves in a real financial pinch come 2010. This is one of the things that I love about Dr. O’C. She’s a planner, the sensible one. She’s a nice counterbalance to my tendency to fly by the seat of my pants.

Here’s the thing. I spent the last couple of years that we lived in Britain in a job that I loathed. I was unwilling or unable to take the risk of putting myself out on the job market – a market flooded with  unemployed Ph.D.’s. I swore that I wouldn’t do that again. That I would take the chance if ever I found myself in a similar situation. Well here I am.

I’ve probably made too strong an argument for quitting because clearly that’s what I want to do. So, I’m asking you not to be too swayed by my persuasive powers.  Don’t tell me what I want to hear. Tell me what you think, tell me what you would do.

UPDATE:

Clearly I haven’t made my case well enough. How about this. Quitting one of my two jobs will give me the time to do the remaining job better and thus improve my chances that the uni will look after me. OR quitting one of my two jobs will give me more time with my son and we can take him out of day care another day each week, thus saving us money. Come on people, I’ve changed my mind. Tell me what I want to hear!

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I’ve been finding some solace in the past couple of days from the sparsely beautiful music of Me and the Horse I Rode In On, a Danish one man band. You can get his debut EP “Ghost Hospital” free from his MySpace page. If you like that, buy his latest “Home and Other Places I’d Like to Visit” from .

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Bully boss

I quit

You can train your replacement