Mine. Maybe.

“Step out in the hall and look at the girl by the window,” Karen, my new admin, told me as we stood in my office. I sent her a curious look, but she waved me out of my workspace. I went, trying to appear as casual as possible, and glanced at the young woman located several feet away. I smiled at her when she glanced at me and she offered a brief expression of friendliness in return.

I raised my eyebrows, making my inquisitive face after she turned away, and returned to Karen.

“She interviewed for your job,” I was told and my stomach suddenly cramped.

“Really?” I asked, suddenly feeling ridiculously threatened. But, I wanted to say, I would have had nothing if this hadn’t worked out. Maybe Drug Company wouldn’t have been so interested had I not had Industry job. I wouldn’t be here looking at houses, living in this hotel room, trying to figure out this position.

I looked around the still-blank walls of my office, realizing for a moment that I was here and the job I’d worked so hard and long to acquire was finally mine. The rush of emotion wasn’t unexpected, and mixed with the possessiveness and relief was a nervous tension that this was going to be different than what I’d done before. There are certainly shared skills and I’m not completely lost and confused, but I acknowledged a learning curve and the challenge this work will present. But I read documentation and wandered out of my office to meet new people when I heard voices I couldn’t recognize.

“I’m at a stopping point on my training screens,” I told Karen as it was almost (but not quite) 5:00. I paused in front of her desk, sleek black bag tucked under my arm and pretty print skirt tickling the backs of my knees. She nodded and smiled, thanking me for buying her lunch.

“So are you dating anyone?” I asked the older woman as we returned from the restaurant earlier in the day. She had mentioned she was looking for a change – a new job and new man and new house. She responded to my question, saying she wasn’t – everyone seemed to be mean or married or mediocre.

“That does happen,” I noted, thinking of years I’ve spent single. I felt hugely blessed for a moment when I thought that I'm making some progress on those three things myself. I was offered this job, though I hope that woman who was standing down the hall is happy in whatever role she holds. I’m likely to purchase a house this weekend and I’ll get to flutter around happily – unpacking and decorating, painting and looking at my pretty nest.

As for love? As rain soaked the city last night, thunder rattling my small window and making the television flicker instead of glow, I wrote an email in reply to one I received earlier.

“I really like someone,” I told Karen when she asked if I was dating, “but I’m not finding the outcome predictable right now.”

I’m torn, honestly. There’s part of me – a sweet, silly part perhaps – that flutters in utter happiness over him. It’s such a good story! I arrived in town, answered a personals ad and met this wonderful man. And we may meet and he may like me! And how impossibly lovely would that be?

But. I’ve been heartbroken by some and disappointed others by my lack of interest. It seems so unlikely to find someone by chance and grow so fond of him so quickly. I don’t want to get too hopeful – I really don’t embrace the thought of being hurt again. But being safe doesn’t really appeal when there’s a chance – even one that may be tiny – of being blissfully happy.

I am, in case it’s not clear, a bit unsettled. It’s good – rather exciting and intense – but it is exhausting. But I sleep and wake up one day closer to a new house, with work to do and, thus far, with wonderful email to read.