I can’t do the letter to my 12 year-old self this week. I’m feeling more emotional than usual and I’m not sure any good would come from such a writing exercise. And that’s too bad because in a better frame of mind, I could write a great one.
If anyone wants to know why my 2 year-old is in my office making it next to impossible for me to get any work done, it’s because my mother values the people who work for her more than her own children and my husband values his job more than his family. Neither of these facts would surprise anyone who knows us, but today they are hurtful. (And incredibly inconvenient.)
You check Tumblr several minutes after you last posted and your post is still the most recent and all you can think is OMG, I broke Tumblr.
(At least that’s how um…some of my friends describe that feeling. Yeah, my friends. Not me. Not at all.)
Corporate Sponsor: So, I’ve reviewed the material you send the schools for educational field trips and noted that our logo is not on them as a sponsor. How does this promote as as a major sponsor?
Me: You asked for the 2012 materials. You haven’t agreed yet to sponsor us this year, so I can’t put your logo on our materials. Would you like to see the 2011 flyers that have it on them?
C.S.: We already have those on file. What I don’t understand is why our logo isn’t on this year’s materials.
Me: Because we don’t have your sponsorship yet and I can’t legally list you as a sponsor until you commit to being one. I can show you what the flyer would look like…
C.S.: (interrupts) We know what it would look like because we have last year’s flyer with our logo on it. I guess what you’ve given me is ok…but I have to tell you our philanthropy officer isn’t going to be happy that you’ve been distributing flyers this without our logo on them.
Me: …(Feeling very glad I am on the phone so she can’t see me banging my head against my desk…)
The things I do for $5,000 check…
I think I just dropped all of those plates I spin every day.
are big jerks.
A Non-Profit Executive Director
P.S. Getting ‘someone died’ phone calls two Sunday nights in two weeks is not that great either.
P.P.S. I don’t like Mondays.