Slightly Pre-Crash

I’m tired.

I arrived home this evening after a two-day summit with consultants from my company. I came along because, for some reason, I coordinated the summit, even though event planning is miles outside my job responsibilities. Over the course of the summit, the consultants discussed important things like business development, revenue targets, and profit margins. I typed notes diligently on a laptop projected onto a wall, scurried to set up whiteboard easels and post-it pads, and made sure that everyone was properly sugared and caffeinated. It was kind of fun, but mostly exhausting. I’m not sure how long I’ll last tonight.

This week at work took something out of me. I had my annual performance review on Wednesday, and I cried the whole way through it for no good reason. It wasn’t indicative of how I was feeling, but I simply could not stop the tears. The feedback I received was almost entirely positive, but the few bits of negative feedback cut me to the bone. I wasn’t necessarily surprised, but seeing a comment in black and white is just plain hard. I know that my performance was very good overall, but I wish I had done better over the past year. I wish I could be less rigid and more approachable. I really wish I hadn’t cried through the whole darn thing, which left me with red, puffy eyes and a terribly raw nose.

And then I got a phone call. I didn’t get the job. I was deflated, the wind knocked out of me. They didn’t think I was “a perfect fit” and they were looking for someone with “different experiences”. The woman who called me was very gracious and she said that I was definitely the right material for their company. Apparently, she'll keep me on their “A-list” for new positions. Thank you, I heard myself say. I don’t have hard feelings because I know that they work really hard to find the perfect person… I just thought that I was the perfect person. I felt like the stars were aligning so that I could leave my job and take on something new. I was disappointed. I still am.

When I got home that day, I nursed my wounds with chicken noodle soup, which is strangely, magically curative in these circumstances. After all this and then the summit, I’m about done. Stick a fork in me.