This might be the lesson of 2017 so far for me. For the first 2-plus months of this year, my brain spent lots of time looking for reasons that the work situation was going to end my life. Now, my brain is torturing me over radio silence from Grey Area Guy. The story this morning is “but he said that even if we didn’t end up together (which was definitely not going to happen from his end, only if I met someone better while he was getting his poop in a group), we’d still be friends and in each others’ lives and he’d always have my back and what if that’s gone, too, because I definitely can’t take that, and what if he’s been slowly realizing that he didn’t like me as much as he thought he did after all and I should definitely have made it clear that I’d be easy to get along with about the stuff that doesn’t 100 percent overlap and…”
I expected to hear from Grey Area Guy by now. I knew he was under the weather, I knew he was juggling things at home and at work. But since we’ve been back in touch this year, this has been the longest stretch of radio silence. As with the last time, I don’t think, other than the fact that I’m not hearing from him, that there’s reason to believe that there’s something wrong between us. But the way I know for sure that things are okay is our reassuring banter. And we’re not bantering.
Pretty near the top of things I never thought I’d hear someone say is how pretty my office is. I’m kind of no nonsense about things like my office. Don’t get me wrong— I like tchotchkes and personal touches at least as much as anyone, but I feel like time spent filing is not particularly productive, and I’m not neat freak enough to dedicate time before or after time I have to be productive to stashing paper, so my work area tends to be cluttered. I worked for a woman who had a very pretty office, about 15 years ago. Lots of plants, a couple of little fountains. Very restful. I worried about my clutter compared to her Zen space, briefly, but then started hearing from coworkers that they felt like there was a connection between the perfect order of her office and the comparatively small amount of work that came out of her office. So I stopped worrying about it.
I got up early yesterday to pick up dog poop in the backyard before I started getting ready for work. I knew that yesterday was my chance to take the dual compost tumbler that I’d spent all Sunday assembling in the living room outside and finish assembling it. (Assembled, it’s 85 lbs and would not fit through the doorways.) We’ve been forecast for rain today and snow tomorrow for awhile, and yesterday was clearly my window. And I was pretty sure that the composter needed to live in the dog poop zone.
Almost without exception, my favorite teachers have always been English teachers. I grew up loving to read, and it turns out I have some natural talent for writing, as well. I had English teachers who introduced me to great books and set my imagination free. I also had some great teachers in history, over the years, and teachers in other disciplines from whom I learned a lot, but I can tell you the most about my English teachers.
At the end of high school, my mom made me promise that I wouldn’t be a teacher or a counselor. She’d heard that counselors had a high suicide rate, and didn’t want that for me. She also knew that teachers are chronically underpaid and overworked. I agreed, but it was a bit of a white lie of an agreement.
The project that has been making my professional life hard is nearing its end. But don’t worry, we’re going back in and complicating the next couple of products, just for good measure. We’re trying to get it out the door. I had a call, this morning, with someone who is theoretically supporting the project, but who secretly enjoys watching me struggle with it.
“Tell me again what this project was, why you’re changing it, and what you want it to be?”
“Well, it’s an online course, it’s been in place for 8 years without a major change and…”
“But why change it now?” Continue reading
It’s been awhile, I know. Briefly, to catch up, Grey Area Guy and I are still on some kind of road. We’ve moved through periods of high intensity in our communication and connection, and we’re in a low-intensity time for the last few days. He’s been under the weather and has some work hectic to face, and I’m still in a fairly intense time at work (though that situation is better than it’s been in awhile) and at home (mostly pleasant getting the yard ready for spring, but there’ve been three ER visits with Mom, so, y’know, not entirely pleasant or lacking stress.) I let him know that I care about his being sick and under some pressure, but I’m taking the time we’d normally be chatting and flirting and using it productively, rather than getting worried or upset about it.