Too much

Standing in an enormous exhibit hall, I finally had a moment where I could check my messages.

“Katie,” PrettyHair greeted my voice mail (she said I had pretty hair the other day – it made me smile). “TinyFriend and I are in a cab going back to the hotel to get luggage. Then we’re catching the train. I, um, guess you’re taking the bus back home. I’ll leave the departure details in a text message.”

Her voice had been mildly guilty and I frowned darkly despite myself. The fact was that I had planned to take the bus back. There were a few options for coming home – a thing I desperately wanted to do since my head ached miserably – and people were taking various paths.

Now I rather like trains. Taking this one would have meant I could leave the show flow nearly three hours earlier. But while it was the more attractive choice, it was less sensible. The company sponsored bus was free while the train plus cab to where I’d left my car would have ended up being $100 or so. I also had meetings scheduled for later in the day so taking the train would have involved either excuses based on lies or an admission that I was tired and cranky and wanted to go home.

So I was going to stay late and take the bus. But I did not communicate that to my colleagues and I was, standing there surrounded by people talking and laughing in pairs or groups, furious that I’d been abandoned.

“Yes,” I answered my phone when PrettyHair called again. “I know,” I replied when she said they’d left.

“Well,” she paused, trying to think since I’m rarely that sharp with people at work. “I hope you get home safely.”

“Fine. Bye.” I replied, snapping my phone closed and reaching desperately for a sense of professional calm as I returned to questioning customers.

It was when I returned to the coat room two hours later that I began to feel sad. I mechanically tugged my suitcase from its spot in the corner and balanced my laptop bag atop it. I draped my coat over my arm and unclipped my badge from my suit jacket. I rode a couple of escalators, pausing to ask security for directions to the gate where my bus would depart, and got lost twice while trying to navigate the bridges and tunnels and endless choices of moving stairs. I had a snack at a table alone, pretending to read while feeling terribly isolated from people around me.

There were a number of buses outside when I found the properly numbered gate, the smell of exhaust nearly overwhelming. I looked around, knowing I was stuck in my head when I was unable to even imagine asking every driver if he could go to where I wanted. I looked around, feeling lost and confused, and pounced on the first woman who wore the same distinctive badge I’d removed from my jacket earlier.

“Are you going back to headquarters?” I asked, ready to burst into tears if she said no. She didn’t, smiling and motioning that I should follow her to one of the buses near the end of the row, offering to help with my luggage that I dragged behind me. I sagged with relief once I was settled in my seat, cuddled against my suitcase for comfort. I finished some email as we waited for more people to board, closing my laptop to embrace the darkness when the driver extinguished the lights and began to accelerate to join the flow of traffic outside.

“I’ve been reading,” I told one of the business leaders over fish and chips one evening, “and one theory is that depression is an overreaction to negative emotional stimulation.” This man, one I like and admire, nodded and nudged the malt vinegar bottle toward me. I nodded my thanks. “So when something bad happens, the brain responds more and longer than normal.”

“And that’s why you seem so sad sometimes,” he said quietly and I nodded.

“I just overreact,” I replied. “And though the medication helps, I still get lost in it sometimes.”

I felt overwhelmed there in the bus, sitting as I was in the third row, as far from the others as I could manage. There was a man behind me who would laugh now and again and something inane. It was all I could do not to turn and demand he stop. That he respect my pain and disappointment and feelings of abandonment and remain silent as we stopped and started depending on the will of traffic around us. I would tense each time he chuckled, gritting my teeth and closing my eyes and silently begging for conversations to cease.

I thought of the latest person to be done with me in a personal sense, smiling rather bitterly when I realized I’d thought I’d be the one to be done with him first. I do alienate people, I acknowledged, eager to make the break before they can decide I’m no longer worthwhile. But I’m sometimes inefficient. I grow increasingly skilled at keeping people at a distance and shoving at anyone who manages to get too close. When wondering if that was as horrible as it sounded became unpleasant, I let my mind go blank while I stared out the window.

I felt brittle with stress by the time we arrived at the building, stepping awkwardly from the bus while coaxing my suitcase down the stairs and onto the sidewalk. I waited for a woman to reach me, smiling weakly when she emerged.

“I’m sorry,” I said first. “My friends were supposed to come with me, but they didn’t and my car is over there,” I motioned and winced that it was more than a mile. “I could walk,” I offered.

“Don’t be silly,” she said. “It’s late and cold – I don’t mind taking you.”

I nodded, following her to her car and waving before throwing my suitcase in the back of the Jeep and tucking myself behind the steering wheel. I sighed, momentarily euphoric to be back in control of my transportation. I called my parents, spending my commute home catching up and asking them to bring Chienne back to me on Friday. The entire crew will arrive – Brother, his girlfriend, Little and Smallest Ones, Mom, Dad, Chienne and – if caught – Mr. Sprout. I checked my mood and realized I wanted them here. Pleased, I decided it might have been stress and exhaustion that made me react so strongly to taking the bus on my own. Not a big deal at all.

TinyFriend called just as I was pulling into my garage and I glared at the phone before answering.

“Hi,” I replied to her tentative greeting. “Did you need something?” I listened as she said she only wanted to make sure I’d arrived home. “Just now,” I answered, barely managing not to snap out the words. “I’m fine. Good night.”

Realizing I was furious and hurt once again, I came inside, only to wince when there was no happy canine to offer joyful greetings. I sat on the floor to unpack my suitcase, throwing laundry in a pile by the steps and leaving toiletries inside the bag to tug upstairs with me. Not wanting to analyze the day or my reaction to it, I said a quick prayer that I’d fall asleep quickly, turned the television on the lowest volume to keep me company and went to sleep.

It is a big deal, I thought as I drifted off. But I don't know how to change it so we'll leave this post sans suitable conclusion.

Thanks

I exited at the mile marked 50 and drove quickly toward home. I grinned when I saw the neighborhood remained littered with garbage bags and recycling bins and made a mental note to take my trash to the curb before leaving for a business trip tomorrow morning.

Last week, I turned down two lovely and local invitations in favor of trekking home with Creature Big and Creature Small. Creature Small found himself locked out of the basement and all three bedrooms upstairs first thing Thursday morning, showing his stripey displeasure by yowling at the top of his lungs while Chienne happily scampered toward the car and took her spot in the front seat.

“I know,” I told Sprout even as he yelled at me and dug his claws into the carpet as I lifted him into my arms. “You don’t like to go. But you’ll get lonely here all by yourself for a week. So to grandmother’s house you go, buddy.”

We made excellent time, finding few fellow travelers on Thanksgiving morning. My plan had been to make the trip on Wednesday but I got stuck at work on the day I’d officially taken off and was headachey, irritable and exhausted upon arriving home. So I decided to wait a day, and, as I sped through the gloomy morning, was rather glad I did.

I arrived home to find tight hugs and pies baking. As Chienne offered frantically loving greetings to my parents, I broke off a piece of pie crust sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar and poured a cup of coffee before perching on the couch next to Mom. We talked, catching up on personal stories and watching local and national ones on television so we could offer expert commentary.

It was just after noon when I asked, still clad in stripey pajama pants and a t-shirt speckled with tiny holes, if we should get ready. Mom and Dad indicated they already were, leaving me to pad down the hall and slip into jeans and sweater. We packed up the pies (apple, pumpkin and cherry) and head off to Aunt and Uncle’s house.

“We won’t have enough,” Dad reported sadly upon walking in and setting the pies on the counter. “There are five of us and we only have 3 pies. So if everyone wants some, we’ll have to share. Like animals.”

Mom might have been abashed for her abundance if she’d been born to another family, but that’s just how we roll. On Thanksgiving, there are three kinds of pies. Also, Aunt began to remove dish after dish from the oven and refrigerator until the table was filled with corn and green bean casserole, rolls and a whole (though modest) turkey, stuffing and a huge green salad, cranberries and olives and potatoes – sweet and mashed.

After folding our hands and bowing our heads, Aunt said grace and we soon began to pass dishes and talk. Uncle is almost completely deaf but I soon remembered to keep my hands away from my lips when I talked and make sure he could see my mouth. We giggled and complained and ate and ate. Once full, I refilled water and wine glasses and began to clear the table.

I felt wonderfully relaxed and happy as I scraped ick into the garbage and rinsed the dishes before finding them a spot in the dishwasher. Standing there, mere steps from my family in Aunt’s open kitchen, I realized I didn’t feel miserable about being there alone. I knew Brother and my cousins were with their respective partners but felt oddly un-pathetic as we continued to converse.

I’m resigned to remaining alone, I realized and accepted the sharp pain that resulted in that acknowledgment. And though I still feel less than grateful that Thanksgiving triggers that for me, I seem to be growing out of the desire to sit alone and weep over my terrible misfortune. I can grow up and appreciate what is rather than wallowing in what won’t be.

I woke this morning, patted Chienne as she cuddled closer and wriggled out of the daybed to join Mom in the living room. Dawn was still at least an hour away but the Christmas tree sparkled in the darkness as I flopped down on the couch across the room from where she was curled on the loveseat.

“I was coughing,” she said and I nodded – I’d heard her. “I don’t want to go shopping,” she continued and I grinned and said thank you. She smiled back at me and we sat, mostly quiet, and stared at the lights and ornaments decorating our tree.

Ones – Little and Smallest – arrived in pajamas and sneakers at 8. They were dressed in layers a few hours later, all of us buckled in the van as we headed downtown for the parade. There’s something magical about watching tiny bemittened hands waving back at firemen on the truck. I watched Smallest One perched on Brother’s shoulders, her mouth forming the name of the red character that walked down the street, waving madly when Elmo glanced her way. Little One, pretty as a princess, watched quietly for the most part. She waved and smiled when I adjusted her hat over her ears. She curled closer when I sat next to her on the curb, only to pop up when the next band or float slowly moved past.

Little One unbuckled herself and bounced out of the van when we were safely parked in the driveway at home. She scampered off, leaving me to think she’s getting to be such a big girl. Smallest One, conversely, had worn herself out, remaining soundly asleep even as I unfastened the multiple restraints on her carseat and scooped her out to hand to Dad.

“Boppy,” she demanded sleepily as he carried her inside. “Boppy, PawPaw.” So while she curled up in the bed I’d vacated that morning, pacifier lying safely beside her and pink blankie clutched in her hand, Little One and I colored Christmas pictures in the book I’d brought for them.

I soon leaned over to give hugs and kisses, deciding to make the drive in daylight rather than fretting over deer fleeing under cover of night. Chienne stood next to my mom, her snout visible even in the dim light in the corner of the kitchen that leads to the garage. Once I backed out, I rolled my window down to wave at Little One and her grandpa as they stood on the porch to wave. Chienne and Mom waited inside the glass door and I sighed sadly before driving away.

I’m now home – just for the evening – and I hate it here without the animals. So I thought I’d distract myself with a blog post and finish packing before taking a bath and getting some sleep. While I hope I find time to post while I’m away – at least toss you some photos – I’m unsure if I’ll find time.

Musical Memory

In March, 2006, I was driving toward a friend's house. Deep in the throes of what turned out to be little more than a lengthy and ill-fated crush, I gave myself stern pep talks as I prepared to dial the object of my affection to talk.

I recall the way my cheeks warmed and heart raced. I vividly remember the way my attention split among desire to call and hear his voice, terror that I'd say something stupid and distraction that I wouldn't find Dave's house so that I could rest before heading back to post-doc city. It was dark and barely raining, my windshield wipers smearing the glow of lights around me. I stopped at Arby's, knowing I should be hungry at 8PM since I'd not eaten since breakfast, but found myself too nervous to order anything more than a soda.

There was music. I had my iPod plugged in and let someone sing at a moderate volume while I glanced and directions and sipped soda and gathered my courage.

In August, 2009, I remembered that moment in startling clarity, save one detail. While I remembered the laptop bag that rested on the seat beside me, could recall the MapQuest directions that I'd printed and scrawled notes on and found the memory of my knotted stomach and hopeful heart bittersweet, I was unable to remember who had been singing.

"Something about scars and acceptance," I murmured. "Sort of smooth and sexy and sad." Then I swore because I couldn't remember anything relevant - artist, album, enough lyrics to google a line. I just remembered the emotion.

And it Drove Me Nuts. Each time I picked up my iPod, the remembered music with forgotten titles tickled my consciousness. I focused - closing my eyes tight and wrinkling my nose in an attempt to remember by sheer force of will. When that didn't work, I relaxed, confident that my brain would eventually locate that pocket of knowledge and tell me what I wished to know.

It's now November. And I was no closer to hearing the songs again.

While I remain on my first iPod - a gift from my parents upon finishing grad school - it failed early this year and I had to wipe it before reloading software. Though I reloaded most of my music, there were bits and pieces that I didn't manage to transfer. When I noticed, I would find the pesky files and move them over.

I'd searched and missed it, knowing it was just like waking up first thing and looking for the toothpaste and, though I was looking right at it, it just didn't register. I tend to be mostly oblivious, assuming people and events don't require my attention unless they explicitly ask for it. But this - having known something and recognized my enjoyment of it and forgotten it - was too much to bear.

Finally, completely annoyed with my inability to trigger the memory, I got resourceful, searched old iTunes receipts and immediately found the files and began to listen. And in that moment of November, 2009, I was completely content.

Owning Your Actions

Corporate life has introduced a number of new terms into my lexicon. We speak in a way that is sometimes ridiculously self-conscious and awkward and I think we do it in order to seem important. Regardless, we speak a great deal about actions and owners and how the two of them lead to great progress (and preferably profit).

"Couldn't we work as a team?" PrettyHair asked, twirling a lock about her finger while I scowled at her attempt to escape another task.

"No," Adam noted simply. "I mean, you can and should work as a team. But I want a single person responsible for getting it done correctly and on time." Such a directive hangs on the wall (along with oft-ignored rules to start meetings on time and have clear objectives before demanding people congregate).

I rather like being assigned my tasks for a given time, having done an excellent job pulling together my play date. It gives me authority to demand help, power to revise as ruthlessly as necessary. With that comes the blame if it all goes to hell, but I'm pretty cool with that too.

"I'm not sure he's worth it," a friend said.

"How so?" I asked, always absently as I tried to get work done and wondered what personal drama I was to hear.

"Well, I could move up in the company. Go anywhere. Do anything. But he's making me give that up to be with him!"

"You," I scolded good-naturedly, "are revising history, my dear. I remember there being a man. Then he was a man who loved you and you loved him in return. They you got a job offer closer to where he lives and - with him reserving judgment - decided to take it. Now, I hope it works out. That you're blissfully happy forever and ever and that you don't miss this career path for a single second. But the decision was yours. And putting that kind of pressure on a relationship seems non-ideal."

She frowned at me darkly before nodding.

"I," I continued thoughtfully, "sometimes cry before bed because I never see this loneliness ending. Yet I don't put myself out there because I think there's more risk than reward. I am dedicated to my career because there's not a whole lot else going on with me. So I think you took a look at what I've chosen and selected that alternative. And that's wonderful. So embrace that and be excited and happy that you have this opportunity rather than mourning the path you turned down. Sure, be a little sad - we'll miss you. Some of your projects may not get done without you here. But focus on the happy, for goodness sake! You're starting to bum me out."

"Did you hire her?" I asked another manager as we sipped soup in his office.

"Of course," he replied, sulking.

"And you make the rules - assign responsibility, follow up, give her reviews?"

"Yes," he said, beginning to glare.

"Kiddo," I sighed, wondering why I've selected that as my term of endearment for men, "I fail to see why I should pity you. It seems you did this yourself and have all the power to fix it."

"It's hard," he sighed.

"Oh, sweetheart," I sighed in return, feeling pleased that I'd been around long enough to be simultaneously exasperated and affectionate. "I know it is. And I am sorry. But you can either stay gloomy or figure this out."

"Tell me how to figure it out," he grinned, reaching across his desk to steal a packet of my crackers. I reached to take a corner of his cookie and sat back in my chair.

"Aren't there decision trees for this sort of thing?" I teased. "I suppose you figure out what motivates her," I said more seriously, thinking carefully. "You stress accountability and set limits that you don't cross. And you need to consider your team - how her behavior affects them and how long you're willing to tolerate that." I eyed his cookie, having already finished the small section I'd taken. "I don't know," I finally sighed. "This is why I don't really want direct reports."

Threshold

When I glanced up and saw a colleague at my door, I barely refrained from saying out loud. Still, all I could think was "What the hell could you possibly want from me now?" It was shortly after I helped her that I packed up my things and walked out of the building before noon. I'd sent a short note to Adam that I was past my limit and needed some time to settle.

It's not been a terrible week, I thought as I headed to fetch breadsticks, hummus and chocolate. (I wanted them.) I had dinner with a friend one night. Worked on early and late teleconferences and did lots of tasks between them. I went for a meal with some visiting collaborators last night, doing my best to be peppy, charming and engaged with their stories. I enjoyed it - they were lovely, fascinating people who do interesting work - but barely stayed awake enough to drive home thanks to the single margarita I enjoyed.

So I picked up a paperback and some snacks and drove home. I took a nap and a shower (in that order). I read my book - it was mediocre - and relaxed. And I now feel capable of facing the last day of this week and the work that awaits me this weekend.

If I owe you an email, I'm sorry - I want to reply but I start sentences and can't think clearly enough to finish them. Thank you for your message and I'll be in touch soon.

Full Disclosure

Silly
“Totally worth it,” I offered faux-absently and tried hard to keep from grinning when all attention was directed my way. “What?” I asked, looking between the pair of people in my office and shrugging. “It is.”

I finally smiled widely when they continued to stare at me in surprise and shrugged before returning my attention to my computer.

“Wait,” he finally said and, wearing my inquisitive expression, I glanced up to make eye contact. We had been discussing online activities and one of my female colleagues said she failed to understand the appeal.

“Facebook, MySpace, blogs – I just don’t see how that’s fun,” she mused and I did nothing but shrug.

“I play games on Facebook,” the third of our trio offered and I nodded absently at his statement. She scoffed.

“Games?” she asked, her tone derisive. “I think of that like… like… cybersex.” Partially annoyed but mostly bored, I offered my comment that the latter activity was “totally worth it.”

“Seriously?” he asked, continuing to stare at me in shock.

“Yes,” I answered, feeling myself blush a bit. “I don’t get gaming – Facebook farming or medieval warfare or whatever you do. But chatting about sex? That can be quite,” I paused, looking for the right word and starting to wish I’d remained quiet. “Entertaining,” I decided and nodded in confirmation.

“Are you good?” he asked at the same time she had a horrified question about how I could possibly chat with someone who could be 70 years old with a big belly and bald head.

“OK, wait,” I said, turning to face her while the man in the room began to giggle. “Let’s not make this into a horror story here. I don’t go trolling online to meet strangers and then immediately start telling them what I’m wearing. I’ve known the men - ”

“Men?” they interrupted in unison and I rolled my eyes.

“Yes, all both of them,” I replied. “I’m not as boring as you originally thought but I’m not very exciting either.”

Sad
“I know it’s not easy,” I said, speaking slowly and carefully as I focused on the woman across the table that held our coffee, tea and shared slice of poppy seed bread. “I felt,” I paused to think. “Overwhelmed. Like I was suffocating. And I couldn’t deal with people or read books or work or do anything other than exist with this vague hope that I'd feel better at some point. And I don’t want that for you. Even thinking about it upsets me.”

“But I’m better now,” she insisted and I frowned while I swirled my peppermint tea bag through the hot pool of water in my mug.

“I’m glad you feel better,” I replied sincerely. “But you’re not,” I shook my head, flustered and irritated with myself. “I’ll start again. You don’t seem well. Listen, I may be overreacting but I’ve been watching in meetings and you seem overly sensitive. Not truly engaged in the discussion. Very easily offended when no offense was meant.”

“I don’t like him,” she said sadly of her boss and I nodded, ordering myself to sit silently and listen. I had allocated a mere hour to have coffee and fix her mental health and I reminded myself that my upcoming meeting could wait. “He always talks badly about me and I can never do anything right and he doesn’t care about the right things!”

“Sweetheart,” I said gently, folding my hands around my mug and tapping my fingertips against each other. “He doesn’t talk badly about you to me. I’ve heard him say very positive things about your talent. But I do understand feeling unmotivated when you’re never praised or recognized for your efforts. For me, depression makes that worse – I either feel attacked or irrelevant. There’s never anything good that I can recognize. But your boss is your boss – he’s not going anywhere. So I see this as being pretty binary – you can learn to happily work for him or you can look for something else.”

I winced when her eyes filled with tears and broke a piece of bread from the slice to give myself time to consider my next statement.

“Have you thought about looking for something else? Stay in the business but work for another manager? Or stay on campus and work with a different group?”

“I have,” she said slowly. “But there’s nothing out there. And I can’t deal with it.”

“But,” I said, ready to be encouraging and helpful and she stopped me by raising a hand. She shifted in her chair so I could see only her profile and put her head down. My heart hurt for a moment, watching her withdraw, and I stayed quiet while I waited for her to speak.

“This is taking me to a bad place,” she finally said, keeping her eyes fixed on a spot on the wall. “I don’t want to go there. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered and she nodded.

“I will,” I said, speaking softly but firmly as we walked back to our offices several awful moments later, “do anything I can to help you. If you want to talk. If I can make a doctor appointment, drive you there, wait outside for you. If you want me to talk to your boss and tell him about how it feels to be depressed. And maybe I’m wrong – maybe medication isn’t the answer for you. Maybe shifting jobs isn’t a good option either. But I’m very afraid you can’t wish this away. I’m worried you’re continuing to decline and that you’ll reach a place where I don’t know how to help you. Where suffering is all there is. I remember that,” I paused, shuddered. “I do not want that for you.” I repeated, stopping myself before I begged her to see someone. To release me from this responsibility I felt for her.

“I’ll think about it,” she said and I nodded.

“We’ll make her go,” another friend stated firmly when I shook my head at her question of how it went. I smiled at her resolute expression and pictured her shoving our colleague back into an exam room.

“No,” I replied calmly. “She’s not ready. You can’t force it. Neither can I.”

“But you said she’ll get worse,” she said, looking suddenly small and scared as she dropped into one of my extra chairs. “And it’s already falling apart for her. People don’t like her. They think she’s unreliable. Uninterested. Or irrationally emotional.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “But she has to get to a place where she wants help. Where being diagnosed isn’t scarier than continuing to suffer.”

“We could get her help and she wouldn’t have to decide!” she tried again, looking hopeful.

“We can’t force her to take a pill every day,” I said gently.

“Maybe she doesn’t need pills!” she said and I nodded. Just because medication is reasonably effective to me does not mean it’s universally applicable. “Maybe she needs a pet.”

“OK,” I grinned. “We can’t force her to get a pet either.”

“I will buy her a cat.” And I laughed because it’s a lovely statement to make.

“OK,” I replied again. “We can’t make her feed the cat every day.”

“Oh,” she said. “Good point. No cat.”

“No cat,” I confirmed, feeling a bit brighter as she walked from my office. Then I remembered Sprout and how I could barely feed him every day when I was so depressed. And I thought that while ‘I can’t force her to get help’ and ‘she may get much worse’ are bad on their own, they are hideous when paired. Feeling helpless, I sighed before packing up my computer and coming home to desperately hope everything will be OK.

I hate this. And I don't know what to do next.

Monday

I changed my desktop photo on my work laptop. I find it to be bittersweet, honestly. Thinking of lying on the beach on the north shore of O'ahu, staring through sunglasses at the crystal-clear water that slowly turned greenish-blue. Puffy clouds drifted far above the leafy trees that offered shade from the bright sun. And I, lounging in paradise and smoothing on sunscreen, was lamenting my professional failures.

I changed the photo because it's growing cold outside. I've no vacations on the horizon. There is nothing but work and sleep and more work ahead and I missed Hawaii. I longed for sleeping in and watching the ocean and going breathless at how aesthetically perfect it was. But I also smiled at how far I've come. How lovely it is to look back at the Spring and realize I've made excellent use of Summer and Fall.

I had a job offer - something I would have killed to do before taking this job in Industry - and didn't even consider it past a brief and flattered refusal. (Though if anyone is interested in a staff research position for the chair of a biomedical department at an excellent school in the upper Midwest, send me a note.) I'm happy here.

Katie @ Work

I missed the fourth blogiversary of my dear Minor Revisions. It was Friday and I worked a long day and then came home too exhausted to post. Yesterday I read and rested, taking time only to do laundry and blankly read incoming email.

But! I have slowly accumulated Fabulous Prizes (!!!) to make up the Katie @ Work box which will be shipped to a randomly-selected commenter. (Disclaimer - if you didn't not win the Care Bear, you will automatically be entered into the Katie @ Work contest. Comment if you'd like to enter twice.)

Timing is everything!
While I pondered what I should be included, my first purchase was an adorable silver alarm clock. "I love clocks," I sighed to TinyFriend as we stood in Target. "They're so pretty and functional."

"I hate clocks," she replied, shuddering for effect while I frowned at her.

"Maybe that's why you're always late," I sniffed. "Clocks are our friends. They tell us when to be places." And so I hope that a lucky winner will have an adorable clock perched on his or her desk to remind him or her that Katie Is Disappointed when winners show up late.

Always Stay Hydrated
I get headaches. One thing that helps is frequently visiting the water cooler to fill a bottle with water, sipping often throughout the day as I talk in meetings and talk on the phone and talk to myself. I did, however, feel guilty that I was going through plastic water bottles shamefully quickly even when I dutifully walked them to the recycle bins in the cafeteria. Therefore, I asked the NWF to send me water bottles when I donated last time. You may have the gold one (because you're a winner!) and we can be water bottle buddies!

In addition, sometimes a warm beverage is necessary. You'll receive one of my favorite geeky mugs and some excellent mint tea. Breathe in the minty vapor... Sip the minty tea... Try not to yell at the irritating people...

Tools of the Trade
I have three (3) cups to hold pencils, pens, markers, scissors, etc. on my desk. I enjoy immediate access to anything I might need. So the Katie @ Work box contains...
- A pretty pencil cup
- A revealing pen (Post-doctoral institution)
- A revealing pencil (Local football team)
- DVD/CD holder
- Multi-colored post-its! I love sticky notes. I maintain my to-do list strictly in Excel so that I have records of when tasks showed up and can track their completion. But post-its remain awesome for scrawling tiny reminders or making a note to carry around stuck to your sweater.

Who's a pretty princess?
Given the meetings I'm sometimes required to join with little notice, I keep a drawer filled with items in case I need to start over. I can run to the restroom, wash my face, moisturize, reapply make-up and fix my hair within 10 minutes. So without being terribly girly (males welcome to comment and win!), I've included a few necessary items.
- Hand lotion because offices are often dry
- Relaxing lotion - eucalyptis and spearmint in case you need to calm down
- ProActive Repairing Lotion in case you find a blemish that needs immediate treatment
- Nail clippers. Broken nails, hangnails are overly distracting unless quickly remedied.
- Origins eye treatment. Puffy eyes strike many of us. I like the soothing nature of this goo.
- Lip gloss! I have an addiction to the minty gloss with red tint. If you're anti-tint, I can give you clear.
- Hair clip and 3 ponytail holders. My hair looks better down but I tend to end up with it back when I'm Focused and Thinking. (I also have to turn off any music in a car when I'm driving in traffic. I have no idea why.)
- Band-aids in case you are injured (perhaps by pretty but painful shoes)
- Aveda bag to neatly store your pretty items in the back of a drawer.

Misc.
It's the extras the matter, yes?
1 tiny plush friend
1 business card so I can add you to the list of calls I ignore on my cell phone*
Several fruit snacks - I like the pomegranate fruit jerky
I may think of more - but I'm close to being done.



* Work is (for me) all about power. So how better to demonstrate that by giving you the power to expose me and perhaps get me fired?

Rules and Regulations
Comment until Friday. Katie to feel guilty that she doesn't have more prizes for everyone who comments immediately upon first comment. Winner notified by email and with a request for mailing address on Saturday.

Whispers

"I'll try," she replied softly when I called yesterday. I closed my eyes, exhausted and stressed and unsure of how to respond.

"OK," I said gently. "I think seeing a doctor is important. Check to see if something is making you sleepy. And sad."

"I just stare at the wall," she told me and I winced.

"I know," I soothed after taking a breath. "So maybe someone can help so everything isn't so hard. Would you like me to make the appointment?"

"No," she refused. "I can do it. I can try to do it."

I hung up and drove home deep in thought. She has friends - lots of lots of them, actually - and I don't truly count myself among that group. She's a lovely person, but we don't click - she doesn't think I'm funny, has an aversion to dogs and scoffs at my dedication to my work. She never fails to complain about something at restaurants, is always perfectly put together and is pretty blunt and aggressive. So our relationship has been friendly, but professional.

"I'm better today," she told me quietly before we ducked into an empty conference room to talk. "I wasn't sure how long it would last, but I do feel better today."

"Good," I said, sincerely pleased that she had on make-up and had replaced troublesome jeans and sneakers with a slim skirt and high heels. "I'm very glad to see you."

"Katie?" she asked and I pulled a chair from the large table and sat, waiting for her to pull a chair close and lean toward me. "I don't know what to do," she admitted and I nodded.

"For me," I began for that's the only way I'm good at explaining this to people, "it was very hard to get help. I had a Friend - capital F - that held my hand and helped me get better. She kept asking if I'd seen a doctor. She offered to go with me. She filled my prescription while I stood next to her a died a little inside. It was hard," I remembered, feeling my stomach clench and heart beat faster in remembered fear. "But it does get better. And you can have help. It's OK," I stressed, "to need help."

"You got help," she clarified, eyes serious and sad.

"I got help," I confirmed. "It didn't change me," I offered, trying to remember how desperately afraid I'd been to tell the doctor and fill the prescription and swallow that first tablet. "It just made life less hard. I could get out of bed. Take a shower. Get dressed. Talk to people. I started sleeping less. I could show up places I was supposed to be. Do work I'd meant to do. Feel hopeful and amused and happy again."

She nodded and I reached for her hand, squeezing it briefly before letting go and tangling my fingers with a brief prayer that I could articulate something - anything - valuable. "I know it's hard," I whispered simply. "And if you need me to do this for you - make the appointment, drive you there, wait outside to bring you home - I would do that without hesitation."

"I took a quiz online," she admitted. "It said I was severe." I nodded, keeping my eyes steady and calm while I waited for her to finish. "I don't want to be severe," she whispered, tears filling her eyes before spilling over.

"I know," I whispered in reply, feeling miserably guilty that I waited this long to help her. Desperately sad that she'd suffered without anyone to intervene. I wished Friend were here and tried to figure out what she'd advise.

We go from here, I realized and relaxed. This is what it is and there are choices.

"You don't have to stay severe," I said. "I don't know if the answer is medication or therapy or a lifestyle change. But I got better. You'll get better."

"But it will happen again," she protested and I shook my head encouragingly.

"It doesn't have to be as bad," I promised. "You can get help. I will help you."

"I have friends," she said a bit defensively. "They'd come if I asked."

"Of course," I agreed immediately. "And you can call them if that helps. But I'm here. In the office in the corner. And while I'm busy, I think this is - you are - very important. And you don't have to suffer like this."

"I think I can call the doctor," she said and I nodded.

"I'm going to check tomorrow," I warned her. "Because I care and I want you to be well. But if I get annoying or you want me to back off, you can tell me. That's OK."

She smiled, a weak but genuine curve of her lips, and I patted her shoulder as I got up. I left her in the quiet conference room, glancing back down the hallway to watch her walk slowly to her desk. Worried, I nonetheless forced myself to give her time to consider her options. Getting help is not an easy step for some of us. Taking a pill doesn't instantly solve all problems and climbing out of a hole is unpleasant.

I thought some more as I halfheartedly listened to a conference call in my office, wondering how I felt about sharing my closely-guarded secret with a colleague and my boss. Honestly, I'd rather it have remained a secret. I'd like to think I'm not ashamed of having a depressive disorder. Of taking medication to remain functional. But I think I am to some extent - I don't want it to color people's opinions of me. Alter my career's trajectory. Hell, I walked away from academic research because depression had so obviously tainted my reputation and have worked very hard to avoid that in Industry.

It was necessary, I decided. To be vulnerable, one must feel safe. And if I need to disclose my struggle to help someone, I'm willing to do that and accept any consequences. I should have seen it sooner. Handled it better. But I'm aware now and have it on my radar, marked as 'must follow up.' And we'll keep going from here.

Loss of Empathy

"Do you have a doctor?" she asked quietly and I glanced up from the screen of my laptop to look at her.

"I do," I answered, returning my attention to the project she was supposed to do but didn't do so now I had to do. I was frustrated. Openly annoyed and brisk in any responses because of it. She's just impossible, I fumed. Never putting forth effort. Complaining about everything. Being generally slow and blank and just taking up space when she bothers to show up.

And as if I finally heard the thoughts for what they were, I stopped typing and looked up. I closed my laptop and took a breath before offering the name of my GP, watching as she slowly wrote the words on a clean sheet of notebook paper. "Would you like her number?" I asked gently and opened a drawer to search through my stack of business cards when she nodded wordlessly.

"There's something wrong," she said and I nodded, twisting my hands in horrified dismay that I'd let her suffer for so long. Not that I believe I control such things, of course, but letting someone fall deeper into a hole while I could have at least peeked down to make sure she was OK.

"Is it just work?" I asked gently.

"Yes," she replied. "Well, no," she revised her answer. "I guess it's everything. I think. I don't really know."

"I know," I said and opened my mouth to stop her when she walked from my office, saying she needed to go home.

"I'm sorry," she as she left and I shook my head.

"It's fine - you're fine," I assured her. "Go home. Take a bath. Read a book."

I sat still when she left, wincing when I remembered how I glared when she wouldn't pay attention. I complained when she didn't contribute. Sighed heavily when she showed up late, left early and skipped meetings completely.

"Hey," I greeted Adam when he answered. "I believe she's depressed. And I want you to lay off." I waited for him to respond and frowned when he didn't. I weighed my desire to have my colleagues remain ignorant of my medicated status and struggle with a mood disorder and took a deep breath before continuing.

"It doesn't turn on and off like that for me," I said, swallowing hard and glad this was a phone conversation and not one in person. "But the inability to engage is similar to how I am when I'm depressed. It's like everything is moving too fast. Everyone wants far too much. And I can't. I don't fully understand why, but there's this intense knowledge that I can't. And when I looked at her today, I realized she can't either."

"OK," he said after a moment.

"And the frustration is normal, too," I told him. "It's easy to get angry because you want to feel something - when you know the way you're reacting isn't how you always have. I got defensive because I knew I was sabotaging everything I cared about but I couldn't fix it. Every attempt that someone made to help felt like an attack. And all I could do was hope it passed. That tomorrow would be better. And when it wasn't, the effort of even seeing people was tortuously exhausting."

"I told her to see a doctor," he said. "A long time ago, actually."

"I gave her my doctor's name when she asked," I replied. I nodded when he said his hasn't been accepting new patients. "That was probably very discouraging," I told him. "When you reach out for help and someone refuses, it's easier to just slip into despair. Nobody cares enough. She needs to see someone - decide if medication might work or if talking it out would be better. And you need to give her time to figure this out."

He started to ask another question but I waved at the person waiting outside my closed door. "I need to go," I told Adam. "I'll call later, but do not scold her again right now. We need to help."

I called him later and he said he'd talked to her. I called her and was unsurprised when I was directed to voicemail, offering that I was around and available if she needed anything at all.

What she needed, I told myself, was someone to notice that she'd stopped wearing make-up. That she wasn't trying harder because it seemed impossible rather than she decided not to. And even as I feel awful about this, I'm struck by how shocked I am that I missed something so obvious. That in the absence of my own suffering, I was selfish enough to disregard obvious signs.

I wish there were a neat conclusion here. I hope that eventually there will be. But for tonight, I just feel sad. And guilty. But mostly sad.

By Request: Polar Bear Play Date

I received emails (!!!) and a couple of them contained post topics that I pounced upon as my sleepy attempts at drafting anything this week are unlikely to see the 'publish post' button clicked.

The polar bear posts - for those of you who haven't read or have forgotten them - were my cutesy attempt at telling a sensitive work story without being blatantly obvious (just fairly obvious) about details. Yet I enjoyed writing them and, looking back, think they are a bit adorable. So I'll try another one since there was a bit of a play date in the polar bear pen last week.

Since moving to my new habitat, I feel like I have the big blue ball. And it's pretty awesome. It's very bouncy and I can bat it around with my paws. It has sparkles and I'm drawn to it - sometimes when I should be sleeping - because playing is just so much fun. I keep it in my corner, but carry it often to show it to other people. When I forget it, I describe it to the other animals so they can be suitably impressed by my good fortune. The other bears in my habitat have toys of their own, also happy to show them off when I trot around the corner with my pretty blue ball.

It happened our toys had not escaped the attention of the other animals since we show them off so often. It was suggested that we have a play date and invite the most important of our friends to learn more about what made my blue ball (and the other toys) so special. Since I am the fondest of my possession, I was assigned the process and happily set about devising the best way to impress people. I selected the time and waited impatiently for everyone to arrive as I sat on one side of the habitat, blue ball clutched protectively in my furry arms against my white belly. I glanced down to see Pretty Hair straightening her floppy pink bow and Best rubbing his paw against a small stain on his bright green bucket. Sibling walked in with her own ball, a smaller one in cheerful red, held carefully between her paws. We waited in a row, most prized possessions ready for their upcoming display, and smiled when a small herd of caribou pranced inside, bowed their antlered heads in greeting and found an area to graze.

The wolves arrived next, leaving only the alpha male to represent the pack after a quick trot around our pen. A strong presence, he quickly glanced at our toys, saying nothing but remaining sharp and aware until the walrus lumbered in, taking a seat on the most comfortable of our boulders and regarding us with serious eyes. I was directly across from him and he stared at me for a moment, peering at the ball held against my tummy and I smiled at him before holding it between my paws so it was more clearly visible. He nodded at me in approval before directing his attention to Adam and nodding. We were to begin.

"Welcome to our play date," Adam said, voice commanding attention as the caribou and wolf followed the walrus's lead to focus on us bears. "We've worked to clean our habitat and appreciate you taking the time to visit. We'd like to tell you about our toys - let you ask questions and offer suggestions on how we might have the most fun with them - and Katie will start with her big blue ball."

Taking a moment to glance down, I took a breath and started to speak, waving my paw for emphasis even as I clutched the ball tightly against my body with one arm. I have worked for this ball - discarding others that were not bouncy enough or an unpleasant color. I sacrifice a lot to make sure my ball is as perfect as possible and was pleased to answer questions and argue points as people treated me and my beloved toy with proper respect.

"What do you think?" The walrus asked a caribou just after an owl fluttered in to take the spot next to her. When I turned to smile at the owl, I noticed a weasel sitting at the table and wondered when he'd found a tunnel to sneak in.

"Walrus," she replied thoughtfully, "I like the way the bounces when Katie chases it. That's interesting to watch, especially when it goes in the water and she splashes after it. But I think the color is a bit odd."

"Yes," agreed another caribou, looking at my toy with an oddly disapproving expression. "It's not the best color."

I growled before I could help myself, for I had considered and discarded various shades of blue before selecting the one which I prized and held before me. Glaring at the caribou, I paused when their new leader said he was rather fond of the color.

"Thank you," I said, holding the ball out for him to see more closely and he took it carefully, before smiling at me and handing it back.

"I think we should all have bells," the weasel chirped without being asked. "People like bells. I think bells are nice." When everyone turned to look at him with various degrees of hostility and bewilderment. "They make noise," he said, happy to have all the attention. "That ball doesn't make any sounds at all."

"That weasel is stupid," I said before I could help myself and the wolf bared his teeth in a quick but genuine grin before saying he thought my ball was mostly wonderful.

"It's totally wonderful," I insisted and the walrus took a moment to nod at me before asking Best to describe his bucket.

"If you put it in the pool, you can carry water around with you," he explained, settling the toy so everyone could see it. "But I also think Katie's ball is very nice."

"Could you put a bell on it?" the weasel asked curiously, leaning closer to look at the handle before Best yanked it away.

"What? No," he replied. "No bells,"

"People like bells," the weasel reminded us. "They ring."

"Could we think about a bell?" Walrus asked and I turned to regard him with horror. "Not at the expense of the ball or bucket or bow," he tried to soothe. "But maybe a bell would be nice."

"Bells have been done!" I said. "The bears down the street have all sorts of bells and whistles and while I know they make noise," I said before the weasel could interrupt me, "they are no substitute for toys that bounce and carry water around!" I motioned a paw toward Best's bucket, accidentally hitting Adam on the leg. "Sorry," I mumbled, patting him to make sure my claws hadn't scratched him.

"This was interesting," Walrus said when we were finished. "I'd like to spend more time on this soon - the toys are very important to all of us."

"Excellent work," the leader of the caribou said kindly and I took a moment to admire his antlers.

"I'd like to pick a theme for the toys," the wolf said, eyes predatory as he glanced over our items. Adam moved forward to protect them and said we could have a discussion about themes. But our toys were unlikely to change. The wolf nodded before sitting regally once again, biding his time.

"Bells?" asked the weasel before the walrus dismissed us with orders to continue to play hard.

"They're good toys," Adam said after everyone departed and the habitat was ours once again. "And you're good bears." I nodded thoughtfully before tossing my ball to watch it bounce happily toward the water, glancing at Adam to make sure were were finished before scampering off to chase it once again.

Punctuation

How High?
"I'm going offsite all day," I mentioned to BigDeal last week. He'd asked me to attend a meeting that was in the middle of a day-long focus group I planned to attend and I asked very politely if I might call in to a meeting rather than making the trek back to be physically present.

"I'd like you here," he replied. "Fifteen minutes early?"

"Of course," I answered promptly, for there is no other choice. When the BigDeals of Industry make requests, they are met. And so I left my other meeting at its peak productivity and drove back to campus, entering a building and making my way to the waiting area.

After announcing myself, I perched on a chair and finally picked up a magazine detailing Industry's charitable contributions (I do payroll deductions and am matched 100%. I enjoy this.) while I waited. And waited. And waited some more. Yet while this once would have made me furiously impatient, I found myself remarkably unmoved.

I understand the infrastructure, I thought. He is the leader and I am to wait until I'm spoken to. And - given that I'm paid well and get to do something I enjoy - I'm actually reasonably OK with that. I was eventually summoned and sat in a different chair to answer questions for which I'd prepped extensively. Then - for revealing reasons - we decided to postpone the major meeting.

Forty minutes later, I returned to my car and departed for my original meeting location, having lost upwards of an hour of productivity in order to accomplish exactly nothing. I realized upon reclaiming my chair at the crowded table that the discussion I left was to prepare for another meeting with a different BigDeal. So I smiled and realized I'm growing more tolerant. This is what I do.

Imaginary Counts.
"Is everything OK?" a technician asked very early this morning. I blinked at him, dragging my attention from my laptop screen to smile and nod.

"Yes," I replied. "We're fine in here." I glanced around the room, coffee warming on a cart in the corner next to pastries and fresh fruit. Crystal dishes were filled with peppermints and sparkled cheerfully at strategic points around the large table. There were pens and paper, tape and paperclips, markers and post-its.

I blushed when he looked around the room, looking confused. While I was noticing the amenities and recalling my affection for Starlight Mints, he was noticing the room was completely empty - nary a person other than myself had occupied the space.

"My imaginary friends very much appreciate you stopping to check on us," I continued after shrugging and deciding I was unable to save myself from saying "we" when it was clearly just "me." And he laughed and laughed. He left and I looked around at the empty chairs, shaking my head at myself.

Yay! (!!!)
Thank you for the emails! After zero last night, I was a little embarrassed about my plea for communication. But I came home to far more than I expected this evening and it made me ever so happy. I'm exhausted (already in bed - feeling better but am still So Ridiculously Tired) so I'll reply to your wonderful, lovely, fabulous messages within the next few days. But I wish you all Care Bear cuddles in the meantime. Thank you.

Fabulous Prizes

A four year blogiversary (November 13, 2009 - let the excitement begin) seems rather inauspicious. But if you want to think of it as a Big Deal (which I do), you could say that it's how long important things take - high school, college, grad school, post-doc (if I add a bonus year for pure misery suffered during the three actual years). So as November 13 approaches, I'm wanted to give something away. I knew what the prize was, but couldn't figure out how to select two lucky winners.

Fortunately, I've been deathly ill for a couple of weeks and decided on a strategy while I was willing myself to sleep more! Sometimes things just work out.

So here's the deal. I like email - I would like to get more of it. Some of my most meaningful posts have been written in response to lovely correspondence or requests for advice. Therefore, writing me an email earns you a chance to win a fabulous prize package. There are no requirements for length or content. You just have to send some private communication.

Now I clap happily and tell you what you'll win! (!!!) I have put a great deal of thought into the Katie @ Home Package and it's turned out to be rather wonderful. I would totally want it myself, probably because it's made of up things that remind me of me.

Something Apple-y - We begin with a tiny iPod shuffle since I couldn't bring myself to ever part with Nick, the laptop on whom a vast majority of blog posts have been written. However, a lovely iPod filled with music you can overwrite with my blessing is not a terrible substitute! Oh, and it's silver - don't get greedy.

Bathtime - One of my favorite Lush products - A French Kiss - is totally luxurious and bubbly and wonderful. You may have it if you win. (I also really love Pop in the Bath but I'm out of them. Sorry.)

Non-Germy - Since I seem to write most often when I'm suffering from some malady or other, I'm sending my favorite anti-bacterial soap. I hope the stupid stuff works better at protecting you from disease than it has for me. But at least it smells very nice.

AM Appreciation! - What else do I do at home? I have one cup of coffee every morning while checking Google Reader and skimming Site Meter! So I will send a box of your choice - the ground seasonal blend (Pumpkin Spice!) or a whole bean breakfast blend.

Bedtime - This last one gave me no end of problems as I pondered it. I sleep. I love (love, love) sleeping. But a pillow is too big. Blanket too bulky. How do I share my pure and enduring affection for being in bed? And then it came to me in a rush of sunshine and rainbows. Bedtime Bear! Suitable for cuddles while curled up on a couch or in bed, he's sweet and soft and sleepy. And he's a Care Bear! A Care Bear, people! I'm rarely stunned by my genius, but this time I was amazed at how cool I am.

I would assign a monetary value to these fabulous prizes, but, frankly, Bedtime Bear pretty much makes it invaluable. With his little heart nose and little heart on his tushie and little hearts on his paws. Let's face it - if you don't want Bedtime Bear, we probably shouldn't exchange emails anyway.

I have another group of gifts in mind. Katie @ Work will be revealed next week as I finish deciding what to include and how to win it. In the meantime, you have until Friday to send email. I will reply to everyone and select a random winner next weekend.

Piles Of

"Crap," I gasped, opening my eyes and blinking at the 6:58 that glowed on the digital clock. "Crap, crap, crap," I said, jerking myself out of my comfortable nest of fluffy softness. Thinking it was a miserable shame that I'd slept deeply only after 5:45 and was going to suffer for my 73 minutes of rest, I proceeded toward being late for a call I'd set up.

"Crap!" I repeated hurriedly when realizing my cordless phone was dead from being left off the charger all night. I ran downstairs to grab another phone, jogging back up to plug in the device and start the call with my secret code.

"Crap," I mumbled a moment later, opening the meeting announcement and seeing a different code. I quickly joined my Chinese colleagues on the phone and listened carefully while sipping soda leftover from last night.

"Do you want to go?" I asked Chienne after slapping on make-up and yanking on clothes. "We haven't walked for a long time. But you have to go slow." Halting the happy prance only long enough to have the leash clipped to her collar, we soon headed off - not at all slowly - down the street.

"Crap," I muttered when, holding a bag of that very substance, I looked back to see Chienne duck her head to escape her collar. "Come here, please," I coaxed and praised her when she wandered toward me. I said her name warningly when she did the same thing 5 minutes later, switching tactics this time to scamper away rather than follow me home.

I went ahead a swore for real before moving wearily toward my house. I got the mail and waited on the front porch before shrugging and heading inside. Summoned by neighbors who'd come to tell me Chienne had just crossed the street, I finally got my puppy back by crouching to cuddle a very soft sweetheart named Baxter. Jealousy works wonders and I was able to slip the collar back on, thank the neighbor and her canine and walk inside.

I left without a word or treat for Chienne, merely glaring as she blinked at me.

"Crap," I sighed upon seeing my schedule. Constant meetings - back to back to back - from 9AM-9PM. I was already tired and could feel a headache lurking, but I began my day, talking to people and taking notes.

"Don't make me tell you no," a superior - though not mine - warned me, much as I spoke to my dog when she was going to run away. "I haven't decided yet. I'll let you know what you can do to help. Later." I went back to my desk to sag with defeat.

I finally laid my head on the table, crossing my arms to cushion my forehead as the people around me continued a screaming argument in a conference room on the other side of the building. While I'm prone to exaggerating for effect, there was actual yelling. Some of it at me. So I cried. Two real tears in front of a group of people hardly cemented my impression of a graceful and effective leader. But at least they stopped yelling.

The topic of said meeting was to kill a project I've been working at since I started. We ended up shelving it rather than murdering it completely, but the overall effect could well be the same. And I thought of all the effort and time and, dammit, hope that went into this and I'm just crushed. Utterly demoralized.

"It's so bad," I said to Adam sadly after finishing a meeting with several people in his office. "I know," he replied simply. "I think I've been screamed at more this week than ever before in my career. We're losing the battle, Katie," he sighed. "And we're turning on each other."

"What?" I said, confused and exhausted when I sat in another office in a different building an hour later. A man sat behind his desk and indicated there would be a multi-million dollar lawsuit forthcoming. "But you don't know who?" I asked, completely befuddled. "Or why? But you want me to prevent it?" Summoning a moment's anger that we can't seem to find lawyers who do much other than caution us to Avoid All Risk, I tried to think clearly about this problem that may or may not materialize but had to hurry back to my office for another meeting.

"Hi," I said, smiling weakly at one of my favorite scientists when he entered. He sits outside my branch of the organization but he's wonderful - smart and creative and productive - and happens to own my favoritest of the works in progress. "Better, but still not good," I answered when he asked how I felt. "Crap," I replied when he informed me that his group had been reallocated to different projects, remaining slightly hopeful that they could continue putting some effort toward the cornerstone of one of my major strategies.

I turned to look out my window, rubbing absently at the searing pain in my head and noticing that my hands were trembling.

"I'm going home," I told Adam obviously when we passed in the hall with bag over shoulder and keys in hand. "I'm sick. And I can't. So I'm missing the 5:00 we have - do whatever you want. I really don't care anymore right now."

"Take care," he said mildly. I waved and walked outside, taking deep breaths in hopes to ease the nausea and got in my car.

"Crap," I said tiredly, looking blankly at the light that shone its desire for more gasoline on the dash. I stopped and got some, wandering inside to pay with my gift certificates. For the first time since doing so, I did not feel like a winner.

I have showered and nibbled on crackers. I'm in pajamas and in bed before 6PM. Because, well, crap.

Walking Disease

I opened the door, winced to find the room full of people and turned to grab another chair.

"Katie?" someone called, following me out of the small conference room and indicating there was an empty chair for me. I smiled weakly when my germophobic colleague hurriedly pushed the empty chair to the point as far away from him as possible. Given that I continue to feel like a walking disease, I didn't comment.

"I almost put you in the other room," he told me quietly when I sat quietly in the corner as our guests were otherwise occupied. "Are you OK?"

"Alive," I told him and he took an involuntary step back to avoid catching whatever horror has infected me.

"Are you stuffy?" another colleague asked on the phone. "Sweetheart, how are you so sick?"

"I don't know," I whined, putting the back of my head to see if I was feverish. Deciding that if I was, it was very slight and nibbling on one of my saltines as I pouted. "I'm sore and my head hurts and I'm starting to cough!"

"I'm sorry," everyone on the conference call said and I nodded. They should be sorry. I'm so tired of being sick.

I stayed home yesterday, I think - I don't really remember, honestly. There may have been phone calls. There was definitely a lengthy nap. I did make progress on my Huge Project - it's deadline is Looming, but I'm pretty comfortable with the state of the presentation. I feel like I'm either working or ill - there is nothing else. I listen to television shows as I fitfully doze. I type out emails while I drink more apple juice.

I'm weary of being ill. I'm grumpy as hell - whether I yap like a terrier or growl like a bear, but I still keep losing because I get tired mid-argument. But when I start answering my boss with "Are you fucking kidding me with this?!" something probably should start to shift soon.

Type

"When I was in grad school," I said, carefully attempting to keep one eye open so I could watch myself clumsily apply eyeshadow just at the lash line. Frowning darkly at the effort, I closed both eyes, swiped some on and warily blinked to view the results. Shrugging, I continued my story. "I had my hair done and asked for the complimentary make-up freshening."

Tiny Friend nodded, gracefully accenting her wide eyes as the Mary Kay consultant looked on proudly. I glared down at the color before sighing once more. "She went a little crazy - lots of foundation, heavy eyes, dark mouth. Thanks," I interrupted myself to take the tiny vial of lip color that was put on my palette. "I went back to the lab, walked in the door - hair wildly curly, makeup extremely done - and watched Nicer, Taller and Smarter turn around. Their mouths fell open," I remembered, watching my lips curve in the tiny mirror that allowed me to view the color I absently applied. "And Taller finally said, 'Whoa,'" I recalled, smile widening. "'What happened to you?!'"

TinyFriend and MaryKayLady giggled at me and I shook my head. "I am not," I offered simply, "the sexy type. I'm very lip gloss and neutral eye shadow. Cotton panties and black flats with little bows on them." Feeling a twinge of regret that my arches cramp when I wear my red pumps and that eyeliner looks far more silly than sexy, I waved away the feeling and decided I'm a bit too old to play dress-up and wish for what isn't.

I recalled the evening spent in my dining room as I winced at my reflection in the master bathroom this morning. I looked pale, dark circles under my eyes contrasting sharply with my overall pallor. Swirling, tapping and buffing for all I was worth, I sneezed at the powder that hung in the air from my furious application and cocked my head. Adjusting my glasses so they perched straight on my nose, I tugged at the hem of my black top and shrugged before moving slowly downstairs.

Apple juice and saltines tucked safely beside my laptop, I carefully drove to work and parked neatly in a spot before wandering toward the building. Feeling too queasy to want lip gloss, my naked lips and I went to the first of 9 hour-long meetings and tried to sleepily pay attention. I escaped briefly to head to the restroom, smiling weakly at the woman washing her hands.

"You work on that team," she told me, turning to smile brightly.

"OK," I agreed absently, shaking myself when she looked a bit bewildered. "I'm sorry - yes, I do work on that team."

"You won an award," she said, smiling again and I laughed as I went into the stall and unzipped my gray pants.

"Yes," I agreed, wondering what the appropriate response to that is. Someone who wears eyeliner well probably knows a gracious and elegant reply, I decided.

"Could we have a meeting?" she asked as I finished and emerged from my stall. "Would you mind?"

"Not at all," I said politely, wondering if she was Southern and wondered what we'd discuss.

"I'll book time on your calendar," she decided happily and I grinned at her enthusiasm before nodding. People are funny, I decided, counting slowly to 15 as I washed my hands and reaching for a paper towel.

After I tossed the damp towel in the trash but before I managed to open the door, my simple black flat hit an unexpected puddle of water. I hit the tile with a thud, whimpering a bit with pain before scampering to my feet before anyone saw me, wishing once more for a bit more grace and beauty.

I have showered and washed my face, carefully applying moisturizer because it's getting dryer up here. I managed a full day at work, though I'm utterly exhausted and don't know how I'll manage a 10 hour day tomorrow. And my bottom hurts. Because I can't walk around without falling down.

Comments

I do not enjoy posting here lately. I still love many of you very, very much. So I don't get why I wrinkle my nose when I think of actually finishing a draft of something. As I attempt to power through, I offer you bullets.

• I'm out of my favorite Lush product. It creates silky bubbles and a nice smell and I like to smoosh it between my fingers as it melts. So my bath last night was filled with splashes of regret since I don't have my little flowery bundles of goodness anymore.
  
• I am excited about going back to work! I have missed it.
• When I finally could think again, I dove into a presentation and spent two blissful hours reorganizing content and making new graphs and charts. I really do like my job.
  
• I pondered why I adore apple juice and abhor apples. Decided it's that apples hurt my gums. They are too firm. Katie has spoken.
• I do, however, enjoy pears. Is there such a thing as pear juice?
• I talked to Mom about Smallest One today - something I've been meaning to do for some time. When told she dumped milk in yet another DVD player, Mom said she and Dad were both Very Frustrated with the toddler. When asked what she was doing wrong, I pounced on the opportunity to offer ideas.
• I think, I said, that people have little motivation to be good when there's no positive reinforcement. And while we did little but tell Little One how wonderful, smart, beautiful and talented she is, Smallest One is far more likely to get attention by being bad. You should tell her when she's doing well. Pay attention to her when she's quiet. Reinforce that she's wonderful and funny, smart and adorable.
  
• Sometimes you have to let her win. Win without arguments. In 2 days, I saw she often got what she wanted but you've trained her to fight for it. Nobody says yes on the first try - it's always a battle for the little darling.
  
• We struggle with second children in my family. First ones (me!) are awesome (-ly neurotic) but second ones tend to be willful and troublesome. Advice for the adorable, wonderful Smallest One?
• I like massages to hurt. I was a bit surprised when a completely effective massage didn't feel deep enough to really feel the muscles relax (more in fear of future agony than an actual desire to do so). Odd, yes?
• I think the economic dip has offered some amazing spa deals of late. I got 2 massages for less than the normal cost of one. I can't totally afford it, but still. I like deals.
• "This is ridiculous for one person!" a colleague said when he came to fetch DVDs of data yesterday. "The house?" I asked, confused. At his nod, I grinned and shrugged. "It's pretty," I defended my choice. But he's right - the place is too big for me.
  
• I felt a little guilty about my excessive taste until I remembered the gas fireplace and whirlpool tub. Then I shrugged and remembered this was the only place the fit my criteria for a new home.
  

Multi-packs of Jello

After accusing someone rather angrily of having a "bullshit argument," I decided to stop taking telephone calls for the day. An unfed Katie brain is an unhappy Katie brain, apparently. Pouting - arms crossed and everything! - I fell into a restless nap.

Upon awakening, I lamented the fact that when I'm supine and comfortable, I'm starving. The commercials of food are so intensely appealing that I'm beginning to lean longingly toward the television when they appear. But, motivated as I am for nourishment, I come downstairs in search of snacks and inevitably grow sick on the short trip. Disappointed, I reach for a cracker and nibble sadly.

"What can I bring you?" Sibling asked. She was the third call of the day and I repeated my answer that I was fine - there was nothing I needed. "I'm coming over and bringing you stuff," she said calmly. "Please decide what you'd like to have."

"Jello, please," I requested, growing a bit weepy at her insistent kindness. "The little individual servings - any flavor."

I told her I had soda and she said she'd get me juice instead. I mentioned I had crackers and heard her scribble a note to get me more.

"Hi," she said when she stopped by. "I brought things you could eat without getting up. Bananas. Little bottles of juice. More crackers - these are the buttery kind. I'll put them upstairs."

"I can take them," I called weakly, scooping up my Jello eagerly and placing the cartons in the refrigerator after removing one. Wincing when I recalled the linens were dirty and rumpled, there were towels that may have vomit on them tossed in corners and I'd been piling pajamas up as I continued to take showers.

Unfazed, she nodded with satisfaction when seeing me hold my tiny plastic container of red Jello. "Rest," she ordered, gave me a sympathetic smile when I nodded obediently and left me with my treat.

I feel a little crampy after eating it. I'm planning to do little but sleep this weekend - no waking up to take calls. No guilt-induced trudges to write presentations and respond to urgent email. I shall focus all my energies on nibbling crackers, drinking juice and spooning up Jello. And feeling rather blessed that I manage to find myself in the company of extraordinary women wherever I'm living at the time.

Better

I finally ate without becoming violently ill. I feel crampy and unsettled, but not on the verge of fleeing to the nearest bathroom. And that, my friends, is what we call progress.

***

"Where is Katie?" a new collaborator asked quietly after everyone in England (well, not everyone - the people I was meant to speak with) introduced themselves.

"I'm in my basement," I offered and waited for them to laugh (God bless the British). "I'm based at headquarters," I offered, "but I'm getting over the flu. So I'm home today." And I contributed and listened and made a somewhat decent impression.

***

"No!" I cried and then coughed, getting increasingly angry when it made my muscles cramp in protest. "They are a vendor," I argued. "They can either vend or get the hell out of my way."

"I thought you were supportive," a colleague said carefully.

"When I thought they would do what I said, I was. I have now turned on them." I explained snippily. "I'm sick - I'm hanging up now. You tell them I said no."

"Whores," I muttered after I hung up and patted Chienne reassuringly before curling into my covers and pillows and trying to rest.

***

"Thank you," I offered to the fourth person who offered to bring me things today. "I don't really want food. I have been alternating Tylenol and Advil and have have enough left. And, yes - I promise I'm getting enough fluids."

Now I'm more bored than anything - finding it hard to focus but less painful to breathe. It may be time to go back to the office tomorrow.

Sick

I pride myself on being quippy. I enjoy sitcoms and have picked up a (little) bit of comedic timing and cute responses. So - had I not already been utterly miserable - I would have been disappointed in my reaction to a colleague's comment when I joined a phone call.

"I heard if it's the swine flu, you need oinkment," he offered when I asked to speed things up so I could go throw up. "But the bird flu requires alternate tweetment."

In retrospect, I could have called him a name. Hung up. Let them listen as I took another miserable trip to the bathroom. Instead I offered a weak, "huh," and let it go.

Growing up, we classified colds as respiratory illnesses and flus as more gastrointestinal issues. I think Friend told me something about throwing up not being a prerequisite for the flu, but it remains so in my mind. So when the news declared that swine flu was most commonly dominated by vomiting, diarrhea, fatigue and dizziness, I roused myself from a fitful dose and untangled one arm from the bundle of pillows and covers to point at the television.

"That," I said to Chienne as she lifted her snout to regard me worriedly, "sounds like me."

The hell of it is that I felt better yesterday afternoon. Convinced it was a mild bug, I even went to get a massage, lying silently as Amy rubbed my back and gently eased the soreness from my muscles. I've been in the bathtub twice, fleeing the first bath with nausea from being too hot and the second with shivers as my fever dipped and swirled, leaving me freezing. I've showered too many times to count, miserably attempting to rinse the germ-bugs away.

I set myself up in the basement this morning, fluffy comforter and piles of pillows forming a nest on the couch. I planned to perch my laptop on one side, plugging in my phone so I could take calls. Instead, I made it 4 minutes into my 6AM conference before hanging up to wretch again. I did manage a couple of customer calls this afternoon, warning them that I was ill and shaking myself from the stupor that left me pausing mid-sentence, nary a clue of what I'd been trying to say.

Tomorrow has to be better, I keep telling everyone. A friend from work stopped yesterday to drop off soup. My parents call at least 4 times - forcing stern internal reminders that they're just trying to help and I should not yell at them. I'm tired of feeling shaky and weak, nauseated and crampy. I want someone to rub my back again but already feel guilty for potentially infecting my spa. I can't really think. But I'm so incredibly bored.

Still. Oinkment. Give me a fucking break.

It all becomes clear.

"What's that?" Little One asked as she curled into me on the loveseat. I glanced away from the screen of my laptop and looked at her before answering.

"This is Aunt Katie's work," I replied. "See all those circles?" She nodded. "Those are all the projects we could do."

"How come they're different colors?" she asked, pointing at a blue one.

"The colors indicate ownership," I answered. "The blue circles are my projects. The orange ones belong to Sibling. Best gets the green ones and PrettyHair is red."

"Oh," she nodded again. "No purple?"

"Not right now," I smiled, cuddling her closer. "So we're trying to prioritize the projects we could do and pick the ones we're going to do."

"How?" she inquired sensibly and I nodded in appreciation for her question.

"Well, it's usually pretty simple. Remember when we went to the toy store today? And you looked at all the Webkinz? How did you pick yours?"

"I like birds because they get treetop rooms, and my friend at school had the caterpillar so I wanted her too."

"My job is kind of like that. I try to figure out what people like - favorite colors, most common problems, bonus applications - and what other companies have. I think about how much money each circle might make and how many people need to work on it. I talk to important people all over the world and ask what they think."

I pointed to the appropriate circles when she asked which ones we'd picked.

"But," I said, thinking my five year old niece now knows more about my job than anyone in the family, "there's more. How much are Webkinz?"

"$12.95," came the prompt reply.

"Cool," I decided. "So let's say you have $25. But we were at the store and you wanted the pink bird - "

"Cockatoo," she corrected me and I repeated the word dutifully.

"And the green caterpillar. But they cost more than $25 put together - almost $26, actually. What would you do?"

"I'd ask you for more money. Or Grandma. Or Dad."

"Right," I praised. "Or you could look for a sale. Or take cost out of Webkinz production. Adhere to lean processes." I grinned when she gave me a funny look and leaned down to kiss her forehead.

"Then what?" she asked and I beamed at her for retaining interest for so long.

"Well, I take care of the projects. Like you do with Webkinz. I check on them and talk to the people who are doing all the work. I make pictures and write stories so people understand it. I present this picture to other people and ask them if it's right or wrong. I see if they want to work with us to do some of these projects. I keep track of new Webkinz to see if there are any I might want if I get money later. It's pretty cool."

"Yeah," she agreed. "What this circle way over here?"

"Oh," I said softly, stomach tightening. "That stands for kids who are sick."

"Oh," she said, leaning away so she could look up at me. "Their tummies hurt?"

"Maybe," I replied, smoothing her hair. "Or their heads or their hearts."

"How come it's so far over?" she asked, and I blinked at the lonely circle as well, feeling completely unprepared to explain this part. Somehow small return on investments or low competitive advantage lost meaning. Profit margins and strong investor reports didn't seem so compelling when I thought of someone else's little one with a hurt tummy or head or heart.

"It probably shouldn't be," I finally answered. "I'll talk to some people about it on Monday. That was a very good question, sweetheart."

"I know," she answered seriously and cuddled close again.

No Complaints

Daily life continues at a hectic pace. I work. I sleep. I react to urgent situations and try to plan a sustainable strategy for my professional life in general. I meant to blog several times over the past week - I had stories and questions, but little time to share them. And, honestly, as my prioritization are constantly refined, I find writing here falls below replying to emails, calling home and - sometimes - blankly staring at baseball games on television until I fall asleep from a mixture of exhaustion and sheer boredom.

We did our first set of global reviews since I started with the company last week. I owned the project - I'm told that's a rather large vote of confidence - and, quite frankly, rocked. It wasn't perfect - some people were late, others didn't attend at all, the presentations had a few minor mistakes that the audience caught - but there were times when I would answer a question and watch people's reactions and I'd pause to think that I was amazingly good at this. I get it. I've found my balance. I can present material with focus and enthusiasm and find I'm quite influential with my opinions. So while I was exhausted after the week was over, I smiled sleepily at all the emails and phone calls that congratulated me on an excellent 20 hours of meetings.

After finishing on Friday, I hurried home and clean a bit and do mounds of laundry. Mom, Brother, his girlfriend and the Little and Smallest Ones arrived on schedule and immediately set to finding all the presents I'd placed around the house. Dad stayed home with an illness and I assured Mom it was fine to come despite some vomiting stories from the girls last week.

I added another story when Little One was sick in bed on Friday night. After a moment of shameful revulsion, I braced myself and scooped her up from the other side of my bed and got the grossness off her. Tossing my own shirt aside and leaving her with Mom and wrapped in a towel, I grabbed my softest robe, bundled her up and put her to bed with ice chips while I started more laundry.

But yesterday was lovely - all of us felt mildly crappy but doggedly played games and laughed and went for walks in my quaint and lovely town so we could look at the river and admire the trees.

"Waterfall!" Smallest One repeated, pointing and bouncing on the toes of her bright pink sneakers as she pointed at it. "Ducks! Waterfall!" I snuggled Little One's head under my chin while grinning at Smallest One as she once again pushed her hood back. They're wonderful. And though I've no doubt they inflicted me with untold germs, it was totally worth it.

The left this morning before 7. Mom was unwell but decided to brave the trip. Smallest One clutched the Big Bird toy she got yesterday and Little One waved from her seat in the back. I went back to bed, head aching and full of items I had yet to do for work. But I find I'm remarkably happy after a nap. I like what I do. I love these delightful people who are related to me. And Autumn is undeniably lovely up here.

I am...

A winner!
We had a contest at work and I happened to win free gasoline for a year. Every time I stop to fill my tank, I have this mental picture of throwing up my arms and cheering, "I'm a winner!" Same mental image when I go in to pay with my gift cards. And again as I pull away from the pump and back into traffic. I now feel utterly awesome during a normally-onerous chore. So while I was pleased upon being awarded my prize, it's even better now that I have it.

Productive
I have been playing Paradise Pet Salon (you wish I was kidding - I'm so not.) when I'm stressed or moody or not able to sleep. (In other words, I've been playing Paradise Pet Salon a lot.) The game has somehow drilled into my consciousness that there's always too much to do. Some people's little hearts will go away because their dogs don't get bathed and clipped and treated medically as quickly as they'd like. So the dogs bark and cats screech as they lose patience but it gets easier to ignore it as I click and click and click and somehow things get done.

When I went to the office today - after taking Chienne for a walk and meeting some friends for brunch - I found it shockingly simple to ignore the angry emails and let demands for attention fade into the background as they blared from voice mails. Instead, I relaxed into the quiet darkness that encompassed the office and did the tasks I'd come to finish. While files were transferring and documents downloading, I went to tackle a pain-in-the-ass experiment and found more errors than I fixed. When I got tired of it after a few hours, I decided to quit and emailed my findings to the team before straightening up, grabbing my bag and heading home. No guilt. No irritation (well, little irritation). I was just calm and capable.

Cozy
Upon getting home, I greeted a puppy who'd been lazing in the sunshine and took a quick shower before snuggling into pajamas. I started my first fire of the season (how I love gas fireplaces) and put together a spinach and blueberry salad.

I have one email to finish for work - I brought detailed notes home so I don't forget anything. I considered a bath but decided against it - it's rather lovely to stay dry, enjoy the fire and wait to get sleepy before starting another week.