February 27, 2013

Managed to staple my finger this morning - don't ask. #officehazards

The dogs barking woke me up at 1 this morning. As I lay in bed wondering if the neighbors would ever let them in from the subfreezing temperatures, workplace thoughts ran through my head.
"She's become a person who talks behind people's backs." (She is me, with my chin on the floor.)
"She's lying to your face, Kathy!" (Kathy's my boss, with her chin on the floor.)
"I can't believe, at my age, that I have to deal with something like this." (I is a 50-yr old having some sort of breakdown.)

I know all of those things were said coming from some other planet but, still, nobody wants to have a day at work like that one. It was a Wednesday, a day BB and I call Commuter Friday. I work from home Thursdays and Fridays, so I was able to reflect in private the rest of the week and digest what had transpired. I tried to dismiss it as a crazy anomaly, but come Monday, I cleaned out my desk in Denver. I stopped watering the office plants and watched them die over the next few weeks.

I've wanted to quit my job pretty much every day since, almost a full year ago, and I resent the fact that a person who comes in to our office for a few hours, one day a week, had that effect on me. I resent the fact that the plastic replacement plants make me feel guilty. I resent the fact that I welcome a migraine because it gives me a legitimate excuse to work from home in the dark.

About a month ago, somebody offered me $10,000 to open up a Local Honey store in Denver.
I could certainly quit my job if I had my own business, but I turned it down. Not just because I wouldn't ever take money from a person who said, "Obama's really a stupid man, you know," but because something is keeping me from quitting my job. Maybe it's that Kathy trained me from the ground up, to be the Media Buyer that I am today, a guru she calls me, and 16 years later I still feel indebted to her. Maybe it's that in order to refinance the mortgage, I need to have regular paystubs. Maybe it's that I still feel like a beginner beekeeper. After all, if you keep having to restock your hives, are you ever more than a beginner? If we pull our two hives through this Winter, come Spring I'll consider us second-year beekeepers despite the fact that we began keeping bees in 2008. Maybe I'm being hard on myself/us but, apparently, the only one who can truly judge you is yourself.

Tomorrow, a Thursday, I'll be able to enjoy some Zen moments, and watch the snow melting off the Warré hive. I worked from home the Monday of the blizzard and saw a bee fly out. Her dark body stood out against the snow, her swirling opposing the swirling of the snowflakes. She'd come out the upper entrance and meant to go back in the lower one, but it was buried in snow. I watched from the bedroom window as her flight muscles began to fail her, and her flying became slower and slower until she wafted to the ground where she made a bee-shaped snow angel. I pondered going out and rescuing her. Picking her up, breathing on her to warm her up, and putting her through the entrance hole from which she'd sillily emerged. Instead, I watched the snow fall until I could no longer see her. And you know what? As hard as that was, it was way better than going in to the office.

I don't know why I'm telling you all this. Maybe it's because tomorrow is Rare Disease Day and all I have to show for it is a Governor's Proclamation to put into the folder with the Proclamation from last year. Maybe it's that my friend's tweet made me jealous. If only my #officehazard was as simple as a stapler.

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