story of my life
My (old) job, for a long time now, was like reliving the beginning of Rumplestiltskin over and over again. I've felt like the miller's daughter, being locked in a room with piles and piles of straw and told to turn it into gold. And everyday, by hook or by crook, I managed to get it done. I went home tired, sore, and frustrated every single day. And then the next ...