Frantic Wednesday

Recently, I was placed on a project that involves developing internal software. I was identified as the best person to be the Requirements Expert (doesn’t that sound smart?) and I was told that I would need to fly out to San Francisco to spend some time with the guy who is doing the actual developing. So, here is my itinerary for the next few days:

Wednesday

• 11:15am: get picked up to go the airport
• 2:30pm: flight takes off (hopefully)
• 5:30pm (Pacific time): flight lands
• 7pm: I call a co-worker to meet for dinner

Thursday

• 8am: arrive at the office so the tech guys can fix my computer
• 9am: get locked in a windowless room called the Bat Cave – seriously – with my development buddy
• 12pm: get released for lunch
• 1pm: back to the grindstone
• 5pm: out for happy hour (amen!) and dinner
  

Friday

• 9am-5pm: repeat Thursday’s schedule
• 5pm: coerce some co-workers to spend their Friday evening with me
• 10pm: take off on a red-eye flight back to the east coast

Saturday

• 6am (Eastern time): flight lands in Philadelphia
• 7am: arrive back home, most likely an attractive combination of disheveled and disgruntled
• 7:02am: fall into bed for a couple of hours of non-plane sleep

Doesn’t that sound great?!

As of this morning, I hadn’t packed at all, unless you count a chicken-scratch list on the refrigerator white board, so if you had had the misfortune of being at my house this morning, you would have seen me running around and muttering things like:

Don’t forget the phone charger! And those materials that consultant asked me to bring along! Wait, what’s the weather like in San Francisco? Do I need a heavy coat? What time is my ride coming? Oh, no, I forgot to run those reports from Monday! Can I finish twelve of them before 11? Will I have internet access at the airport? How many pairs of shoes do I need?

I’m happy to report that I was packed and showered before I logged on to my computer at 8:30, I sent out all twelve reports before 10, and I remembered to record an out-of-office voicemail on my work phone. Even though I ate Thin Mints for breakfast, I consider this morning a success.

Unrequited Girliness (and Cupcakes)

Last week, I received an e-vite for a girls-only Oscars party:

Come in your PJs and watch the stars! We’ll make popcorn, have some snacks and drinks and keep tabs on who is a Do and who is a Don’t! Who needs boyfriends/husbands when you’ve got Jake, George, Brad, and the rest of the Hollywood hotties in tuxes!

I wasn’t sure. I’m not very invested in awards shows – I usually skim the summary lists the day after – and the invitation came from one of JG’s teacher friends. We’ve hung out in groups for game nights, but I’ve never gone to a function by myself. Still, the idea of genuine girl time was attractive, since I don’t naturally seek out that type of company on my own. I’m no tomboy, but for whatever reason, girls were never my closest friends. This invitation intrigued me, and despite a little nervousness, I clicked the button indicating, “I can handle the red carpet!”

The party planner instructed us to “bring whatever” so I decided to make the girliest dessert I could think of that would be easy to transport. Eager to use up my superfluous valentine cupcake liners, I whipped up two dozen strawberry cupcakes, topped them with vanilla icing, and scattered the caps with pink sugar crystals. With my box full of sugary, glittery, all-girl treats, I felt ready. JG and I even watched Little Miss Sunshine yesterday so that I would know at least one of the nominees for Best Picture. I was all set. Here I come, Girl Time.

And then we got another storm.

Three inches of snow with sleet and rain for dessert mean that I’m watching the show on my couch, with no one to admire or eat my cupcakes. Well, that’s not exactly true. JG “took one for the team,” even though it was more like two or three. Even though I like being home when it’s snowing and I feel all cozy, I was really looking forward to dishing about the red carpet. I have no one to discuss with me how amazing Helen Mirren looked, what in the world Jessica Biel was thinking, or how many times Ryan Seacrest complained about being behind an azalea bush. Oh, well. I know I would have hated to be out on the roads in bad weather even more. It really was for the best, but I’m still kind of disappointed.

Maybe I’ll help myself to a cupcake.

New Toy for Me

I pulled up the confirmation e-mail, clicked the handy Gmail link to track my UPS package, and waited for the page to load with bated breath. I scanned quickly. Out for delivery! Woo hoo!

My company has a fabulous perk where each employee gets a yearly allowance to spend on a hobby or outside interest of some sort. People buy craft supplies, golf equipment, or even small kitchen appliances. My first year, my funds went toward a historic tour and snorkeling on my honeymoon, books, and a whole slew of camping stuff. Last year, I invested in a hangboard and a cute PDA. Last week, I blew this year’s money on a little something that was on track to be delivered right into my hot little hands.

My new camera came today!

I waited until I got home to explore the new features with JG, since he was just as excited about the newest addition to our household. We followed the directions in the manual labeled, “Read this first,” and attached the neck strap and lens cap, inserted the batteries, and slid in the memory card. I flicked the On switch and suddenly, everything had potential to be artistic. My guitar! Our UD afghan! Garlic sizzling in a saucepan! Cracked pepper! Oh, the possibilities.

Of course, there’s the minor detail that, when it comes to photography, I am definitely a novice. I sort of have an eye for composition, but I’m looking forward to learning much more as I figure out everything I can do with this newfangled machine. Watch out, world.

Writing It Out

Last night, I was a lovely combination of pathetic and resigned. When I reflected on the letters and spaces that made up my tired mindset, I realized that writing it out had two effects. On the one hand, writing un-frazzled me. I was able to distill all of my frayed nerves into coherent thoughts. It was soothing.

On the other, unexpected hand, once I’d written everything out, I could see my discontent for what it was, which was pretty silly. I can only wallow for so long and last night was the limit. I saw my complaints out in the open, condensed into letters and spaces, and I had an overwhelming sense akin to “What the heck is the big deal?”

I sat back and realized that I didn’t want to miss a major portion of my life because I was so busy wishing that I was somewhere else. I didn’t want to look back at this period and wonder why I felt so occupied and stressed but not recall what I was actually doing. I may not remember my commute some mornings, but I really want to remember my actual life. If nothing else, my post was a big smack across the head with a ringing “Pay attention!” attached to it.

I can’t promise to be an ever-shining beacon of optimism; in fact, it’s a safe bet that I will hardly ever be that. But I can make a greater effort to be more present and aware of what I’m going through, not just dazing off into a dream world where things are automatically easier, more attractive, or faster. It’s the difference between being an active participant in my own life – as corny as that sounds – and being an observer. Simply observing isn’t fair to my friends, JG, or myself. If I’m tired, I don’t want the fatigue that comes from being beaten into submission by the daily grind. I want the tiredness that comes from having a full day behind me. A full life.

It's Only Tuesday

… and I feel like my brain is fried. I’m in the midst of a streak where I wake up tired in the mornings, wanting to succumb to the pull of gravity on my body and the lure of soft t-shirt sheets on my skin. I’m unable to resist dozing past my alarm. I dread the inevitable moment when I need to fling the covers off and trudge to the shower, where the water wakes me up, but not in a way that stops me from leaning against the acrylic, off-white wall with my eyes closed. It’s a temporary escape from the world of neon-green, digital numbers and the countdown to when I need to leave the house, but time doesn’t stand still, not even in the bathroom. I blink my contacts into place and try to settle on an outfit for the day before blasting my hair with the hair dryer and trying to hide my fatigue with makeup.

I drive to work and realize that after 25 minutes, I’ve arrived at the office and I don’t remember the ride at all. It bothers me a bit because I know I should be more aware. While my computer boots up, I hang up my coat, put my lunch in the fridge, peel an orange. My co-workers float in as the next half hour goes by and I offer them a cheerful face and a hi-how-are-you-how-was-your-night. I try not to seem tired, but my office mate can’t help but notice my frequent yawns and eagerness to eat lunch. Work keeps me busy, but not interested. I guess one out of two isn’t bad.

At the end of the day, I’m glad to push my chair back into place and tie a scarf around my neck. I notice that my shoulders relax as soon as I get into the car and pull out. My grip on the wheel is looser than in the morning. I’m much more energetic during my commute back home. I sing along to the radio and look forward to being home, a comforting haven where my husband and a good dinner are bound to show up; seeing JG is the first thing I’ve looked forward to all day. After giving my mind a break during an hour of primetime television, I head down to bed after JG – we operate on teacher time. I reverse my morning routine, donning pajamas and glasses to read a couple of chapters. JG turns in before I do and we exchange a good-night hug and kiss. When I can’t hold up the book any longer, I turn off my bedside lamp and burrow down into the covers. The morning comes far too soon.

I don’t know what it is. Maybe I need more sleep or less sleep. JG says I need to drink more water. I know I should do yoga in the mornings. Maybe that’s it. Common sense tells me that it’s too early to be yearning for the weekend, but my tired mind and body don’t agree.