Change is...um...

“Parking was a mess today.” I said after greeting my new officemate. I’d borrowed his scissors last night to put up some cork board (it holds my baby animals calendar! All the way across the shelf from my teddy bear holding a felt flower – I have to spread out the cuteness.) and forgot to place them back on his desk under the clutter. Not a good way to start sharing a room with people.

So I sent email this morning apologizing and he didn’t mention it when I arrived. Instead, his eyes kept straying downward.

“I park in lot F.” I offered, glancing down myself. The first button was slightly low, but it was hardly indecent. “Where do you park?” I attempted to throw the conversation to him in order to keep his eyes a bit north.

“How much does that cost each month?” I asked, all the while thinking ‘That’s enough. Theres's nothing all that impressive down there.’

“Yes, that does seem worth it.” Seriously, dude. Stop. No more looking for you.

“No, I don’t often work late – I don’t mind the walk to my car.” See how I put my hand on my chest? And how I have tugged my shirt completely together up to my neck? That means you’re making me uncomfortable.

“OK.” I finally said with a stern frown and a glance down at my own chest. “I should get some work done.”

I don’t wear revealing clothing. Honestly. When I wore a white shirt that was borderline sheer, I asked my old officemate if it was too much. She insisted it wasn’t. I would compliment her on her pretty sweaters and notice when she changed her hair. She would comment on my weight loss and any new shoes.

It might be an adjustment to working with men who take note of what I’m wearing on a slightly different level. But I suspect I’ll correct it quickly.

I seem to be getting messages that changes can be good, though not all of them are. But this office shift is a time to evaluate my current status – make new hanging folders and label the information they contain, throw away old documentation, tuck completed projects away and make sure the new ones are easily accessible. And an opportunity to prepare for what I want the future to hold – a vague idea of how to allocate time and prioritize work. I have a little corner that I created – shelves and drawers and a lot of paper. I like it. It actually feels really right.

“It’s organized like my grad school desk.” I told Boss as we conducted an afternoon experiment that involved a good deal of waiting. When we got started, I was pleased to offer a great deal of insight and expertise. I was good at my job today. It was about an hour of goodness, which is less than possible, but more than normal. Regardless, I’ll take it.

“I have the right items in the right drawers and I feel really comfortable.” I continued. Then I drifted into my own thoughts as we waited.

I’ve done some thinking lately about grad school – all the bad times with classes, tests, anxiety and depression. All told, I probably worked – really, truly worked – for a year. Pulled data together, did a tremendous amount of reading, really hit my stride. If I can work for the next year, then do writing and interviewing afterward, I’ll be in good shape. I feel pressure to get started and I’m sure I’ll slip and spend more time screwing around, but there are things that can be done. Papers to be written. Clinical progress to be made. I’m rather hopeful about the whole thing.

In terms of my personal life? That’s more complicated. And while I have thoughts – a few good thoughts, actually – I’m too tired to make sense of it right now. I just can’t get enough sleep lately – I’m all drowsy and achy and ready for bed. Perhaps tomorrow will provide more peppy clarity.