On Tuesday I was raised by my alarm from a dream in which I was going to lose my job, or might have been going to lose my job, or was going to get reshuffled, or whatever, and the key point, other than man, what is it about getting woken up from a dream? I was groggy the whole darn day - was: I wasn't too upset. Yes, it was a dream, and also my eraser turned into a miniature kit fox and ran into the corner, but the prospect of losing my job, even on waking, was not terribly distressing. I had a momentary flash of panic about the mortgage and other expenses (as well I should), but my main reaction was, "Hmmm. I could do a lot with all that extra time."
Which is perhaps why two days later, after a work day that made me wonder to which cost code I should charge 30 minutes of seething and 45 minutes of wasting my damn time, I thought, hmmm. I could just not have to deal with any of this.
I could just be at home, and do home stuff, and be homey and homely and home. And then I had a little frisson of delight and relief - all of the irritating insoluble problems of the workplace could just vanish, just like that, and I would be free.
It sounded wonderful. For about five minutes. Then I remembered that:
a. I really do like my paycheck very much, and
b. I also am kind of involved in things at work right now, and walking out would leave me with an eternal sense of having left something unfinished, plus
c. Irritation is good for me.
It took me a while to realize this. Irritation - not crushing stress or daily misery, but the kind of condition where you have to sigh sharply and bustle in and do things right - is good for people. So is training yourself to suck it up and just deal with the fact that the air conditioning comes on when it's 46 degrees outside (WTH, Building People?), that the computer upgrades you need to do your job aren't likely to come before October even though other people in the office just got brand new iPads, and that meetings will always be dominated by the ones who do nothing but complain. It's like exercise: it's uncomfortable during the practice of it, but afterward you feel great, plus your muscles are better toned.
So: instead of getting all bent out of shape when I get yet another incomprehensible request to deal with something that I'm pretty sure we solved three months ago, I just breathe, smile, and think feel the burn. And also: nope. Not leaving. Not today.
Showing posts with label working. Show all posts
Showing posts with label working. Show all posts
Friday, March 22, 2013
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Running through a sprinkler
Last week, which was my first five-day week working full time in this millenium, practically, I was a little unsure if the whole "working" thing was going to last. Life just felt so unbearably busy, like I was holding my breath and running through a sprinkler every single second of every single goddamn day. I mean, this is my standard morning:
5:20 - alarm goes off. I get up and put on my running clothes in the dark.
5:25 - I stretch and do some push-ups, in the dark. If I'm running late I skip the stretching.
5:40 - I leave the house for a run. Sometimes I'll leave as late as 6. I run two and a half to three miles, with the dog, who's mostly on message but occasionally insists on a sniff stop mid-run. These feel like they take HALF AN HOUR.
6:30 - At the latest. I come in the door, strip off my running stuff, hang the "wear more than one day" items, try to get the rest into the laundry pile instead of on the floor.
6:35 - Shower. Shave legs. Comb hair. My hair takes forever to comb, so sometimes I'll read a magazine (propped on the sink) while I comb.
6:50 - Turn on Si's light, turn off his fan, say "Time to get up, sweetheart! What do you want for breakfast?" Start the water for coffee. Grind the coffee. While the water is boiling, empty the dishwasher. Load the assorted dirty dishes that have gathered since the dishwasher ran last night. Gather up a few lunch/snack items and put them in my lunch bag. When the water boils, pour it into the coffee maker. We do French press coffee, BTW. Best coffee ever.
7:02 - Return to Si's room, pull the blanket off him, get him some clean clothes to change into, say, "The bus will be here in fifteen minutes! You really need to get up now!"
7:05 - Return to kitchen and cut up a peach for Si's breakfast. Pour him some milk. Pour myself some OJ and take a vitamin. Pour out my cereal. If Si's made it to the table on his own steam, I'll start eating. If not, I go and tell him the bus will be here in ten minutes, or whatever lie I need to tell him to get him the hell out of bed. I try to read while I eat and usually make it through about one paragraph.
7:19 - Notice the time and panic. Tell Si he needs to be walking out the door this second. Go find his shoes for him and put them on his feet. Ask him if he has his homework. Remind him to brush his teeth. End up getting the toothbrush pasted and wetted for his majesty and bring it to him for his brushing pleasure. Answer complicated questions regarding plaque build-up. Tell much-told horror story involving root canals at age 25 and add "THIS is why you need to brush your teeth!" Open door and practically push Si out of it. Feel grateful he will take the bus this year. Check to make sure he gets to the bus on time.
7:27 - Turn on Helen's light, open her blinds, kiss her cheek and say, "It's time to get up, sweetheart! What do you want for breakfast?" Endure some nonverbal glaring abuse and/ or a brilliant smile. Turn off the light when she screams "I can't see!" but remind her it's time to get up anyway. Explain physics of eye adjustment. Ask if she wants cereal or toast.
7:31 - Feed the dog, who is barking with impatience.
7:32 - Put together Helen's breakfast.
7:40 - Uncover the birds and roll up the covers. Feed the cursed things. Change their water.
7:41 - Finally, finally, finally pour out some coffee. Drink while I assemble the rest of my lunch. Go carry Helen from her bed to the couch. Ask if she's ready for milk in her cereal yet. Remind her that I want to leave very soon.
7:50 - Wish I were leaving this second. While Helen eats her breakfast, and Hubs comes in and starts pouring out his own cereal, pull out three outfits for her to choose between. Also brush my own teeth.
8:00 - While Helen gets her clothes on, paste and wet her toothbrush. Also get the comb and comb her hair while she complains that she wanted to brush her teeth first. Load my things into the car. Put the Netflix movie out for pickup. Pee one last time.
8:03 - Tighten Helen's shoes, as per her request. Hurry her out the door to the car. Kiss Hubs goodbye.
God, right? Minus the run and the showering, this was pretty much what I did last year, when I wasn't working, only it always felt like there was a little more slack. Evenings and weekends are more or less the same; however, I DID notice that this week feels a little less pell-mell. Am I adjusting? Or is it because Hubs actually got up early, too, and helped at least with the reminding and the putting the children out of the door? Or is it because we spent the weekend at home, instead of up in the mountains? Probably all of the above. I'm rooting for number one, though. It's all about adjustment.
5:20 - alarm goes off. I get up and put on my running clothes in the dark.
5:25 - I stretch and do some push-ups, in the dark. If I'm running late I skip the stretching.
5:40 - I leave the house for a run. Sometimes I'll leave as late as 6. I run two and a half to three miles, with the dog, who's mostly on message but occasionally insists on a sniff stop mid-run. These feel like they take HALF AN HOUR.
6:30 - At the latest. I come in the door, strip off my running stuff, hang the "wear more than one day" items, try to get the rest into the laundry pile instead of on the floor.
6:35 - Shower. Shave legs. Comb hair. My hair takes forever to comb, so sometimes I'll read a magazine (propped on the sink) while I comb.
6:50 - Turn on Si's light, turn off his fan, say "Time to get up, sweetheart! What do you want for breakfast?" Start the water for coffee. Grind the coffee. While the water is boiling, empty the dishwasher. Load the assorted dirty dishes that have gathered since the dishwasher ran last night. Gather up a few lunch/snack items and put them in my lunch bag. When the water boils, pour it into the coffee maker. We do French press coffee, BTW. Best coffee ever.
7:02 - Return to Si's room, pull the blanket off him, get him some clean clothes to change into, say, "The bus will be here in fifteen minutes! You really need to get up now!"
7:05 - Return to kitchen and cut up a peach for Si's breakfast. Pour him some milk. Pour myself some OJ and take a vitamin. Pour out my cereal. If Si's made it to the table on his own steam, I'll start eating. If not, I go and tell him the bus will be here in ten minutes, or whatever lie I need to tell him to get him the hell out of bed. I try to read while I eat and usually make it through about one paragraph.
7:19 - Notice the time and panic. Tell Si he needs to be walking out the door this second. Go find his shoes for him and put them on his feet. Ask him if he has his homework. Remind him to brush his teeth. End up getting the toothbrush pasted and wetted for his majesty and bring it to him for his brushing pleasure. Answer complicated questions regarding plaque build-up. Tell much-told horror story involving root canals at age 25 and add "THIS is why you need to brush your teeth!" Open door and practically push Si out of it. Feel grateful he will take the bus this year. Check to make sure he gets to the bus on time.
7:27 - Turn on Helen's light, open her blinds, kiss her cheek and say, "It's time to get up, sweetheart! What do you want for breakfast?" Endure some nonverbal glaring abuse and/ or a brilliant smile. Turn off the light when she screams "I can't see!" but remind her it's time to get up anyway. Explain physics of eye adjustment. Ask if she wants cereal or toast.
7:31 - Feed the dog, who is barking with impatience.
7:32 - Put together Helen's breakfast.
7:40 - Uncover the birds and roll up the covers. Feed the cursed things. Change their water.
7:41 - Finally, finally, finally pour out some coffee. Drink while I assemble the rest of my lunch. Go carry Helen from her bed to the couch. Ask if she's ready for milk in her cereal yet. Remind her that I want to leave very soon.
7:50 - Wish I were leaving this second. While Helen eats her breakfast, and Hubs comes in and starts pouring out his own cereal, pull out three outfits for her to choose between. Also brush my own teeth.
8:00 - While Helen gets her clothes on, paste and wet her toothbrush. Also get the comb and comb her hair while she complains that she wanted to brush her teeth first. Load my things into the car. Put the Netflix movie out for pickup. Pee one last time.
8:03 - Tighten Helen's shoes, as per her request. Hurry her out the door to the car. Kiss Hubs goodbye.
God, right? Minus the run and the showering, this was pretty much what I did last year, when I wasn't working, only it always felt like there was a little more slack. Evenings and weekends are more or less the same; however, I DID notice that this week feels a little less pell-mell. Am I adjusting? Or is it because Hubs actually got up early, too, and helped at least with the reminding and the putting the children out of the door? Or is it because we spent the weekend at home, instead of up in the mountains? Probably all of the above. I'm rooting for number one, though. It's all about adjustment.
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