Foolishly Fickle

"I had so much fun!" I claimed happily, savoring the post-presentation high. It was exciting to argue and answer questions, to speak and demand attention. I'd done beautifully - the week of late nights and early mornings seeming worthwhile after my 90 minute presentation. I felt lucky to do what I do. And ready to put in a weekend of work trying to stay reasonably caught up.

"We get the bonuses on Monday," Sibling offered with a grin while we sat at a small booth for dinner many hours later. Cocking my head at her over our basket of bread, I tore of an end, dipped it in oil and paused before eating it.

"What bonuses?" I asked, curiously then took a bite.

"The bonuses," she repeated fondly. "You really need to start reading rather than skimming your email."

"I don't think I got one," I defended myself and watched her frown in disbelief before she shrugged and explained that all polar bears would be sharing in the profits from last year's excellent performance.

"Oh," I said, feeling suddenly miserable and blinking back tears in a gross overreaction. "I'm a polar cub, officially. So I don't get one."

"You're not a cub," she said, looking concerned and gentle at seeing my reaction. "You're a bear. Like us."

"No," I said, sucked into my self-pitying and pathetic state. "I was hired as a cub and haven't been promoted. Even though everyone else on the team is a bear. And I'm a fully functioning member of the team."

"You're the best of the team," she claimed loyally and while I agreed a little bit, I still shook my head.

"We're all good. But I'm definitely not so much worse that I need to be a lower paid, lower class member." I forced myself to eat and laugh and talk after I changed the subject, burying my miserably hurt feelings, and chided myself for being surprised. I work for Industry. We exist to make money. If we can accomplish some altruistic goal or make an employee happy, that's lovely. But it's hardly our purpose and certainly won't be prioritized over profit.

Older and wiser people (I'd say "friends" but these people no longer speak to me - see second adjective at the beginning of this sentence) have advised that I was a part of the corporate machine because they saw value in me. That there was potential for me to play some part of the plan - work harder for less money, convince customers to buy product, motivate others to allocate additional effort - and that selfish motive was the only real one that existed for paying me to be part of their team.

I knew this - I still know it - but in some oddly detached sense. I want to believe they care about me, at least a little bit - and so I do believe that. (This delusional capability has long been problematic - I should probably stop.) But when faced with the fact that I'd been denied something so petty - it's about $5K so a pittance to them but a rather nice bonus for me - I was quite upset.

"I'm not worried," I sneered when Adam took my call as I drove home. "I can't believe you think I'd be worried about my performance review! What I am," I paused to breathe through the sudden rage, "is angry. That I'm underpaid. Undervalued. And that you've done nothing to fix it!"

"I won't discuss this on the phone. We will have a conversation - soon - in a more formal setting."

"Fine." I paused and he paused with me. "I needed you to know," I told him. "That I'm hurt and angry and upset. Because it's going to consume my weekend that otherwise would have went to work. And I'll see you in Hell before I open my laptop before Monday morning."

"Fair enough," he replied and I hung up without another word.

"It is not fair," I murmured, swiping at the tears that had fallen. I don't want to yell at my boss after sitting shoulder to shoulder all day and whispering comments and amusing insults throughout the day of meetings. We had drinks together exactly a week before I'd called to complain bitterly this evening. I don't want to feel jealous of Sibling and PrettyHair and Best. They're talented and very deserving of the additional compensation. God knows I must get annoying with my awards and recognition and over-achiever little heart and power-hungry soul, but I don't begrudge them a single penny.

So I came home and read two books curled on my couch downstairs. I talked to my parents. When I told Dad I was angry, he asked if I was sure I was part of his family. I giggled, realizing that at least one of us is wounded or enraged or deeply offended about something or other at any given time. It is likely that draw toward passionate discussions and all-or-nothing work ethic that keeps me in Industry.

And I'm staying, even if they refuse to pay me more and continue to call me a cub as my percentage of gray hair slowly inches upward. For as I looked through job postings, visions of walking in with another offer and telling them how much they'd miss me when I was gone!, there is nothing that appeals. This is what I do. It's becoming who I am. And, on evenings like tonight, I find that more terrifying than comforting.

New Normal

I blink myself awake, always without the aid of an alarm, by 6. I roll from bed with a whimper or moan (I like to mix it up) and go to brush my teeth.

I stumble downstairs to consume coffee, watching the news and reading the most urgent of the emails that have arrived from Asia or Europe overnight. I pet Chienne when she descends the stairs, glancing at the clock before slipping on sneakers and grabbing her leash to take our morning walk.

I drive to work, humming hymns from church if it's early in the week or quietly cursing people in my way as I move toward Friday. I arrive, park and make my way to my office. And I begin to work, slipping on my headset to take phone calls, responding to the buzz of the phone in my pocket, answering emails, filling out forms, talking to people and making presentations.

About 12 hours later, I place my laptop back in my bag and make my way back to my car. I come home and eat dinner. I make a futile effort to catch up on email and requests. Then, exhausted, I fall into bed.

My stomach cramps around 1AM, a mixture of stress and late meals and nightmares. I'm awake, curling closer to my dog or cuddling into pillows, before sleep takes me again.

Travel buddies

"My girlfriend taught me a lot," he said. "We started dating while I was in college and she had just graduated. So I learned some important things - how to pay bills, grocery shop. You know." I glanced up from my book and across the cute-as-a-button girl in the middle seat at the man speaking to her from his seat on the aisle of the plane. I returned my attention to my book as he said it had been, like, a real growth experience, rolling my eyes so far I thought I was going to hurt myself.

***

"The fog is wonderful," he said from the passenger seat of my Jeep as we sped through a town on our way back home. "I read an article on how hard it can be to recreate that visual effect - how the light diffuses, how the shadows are long and soft. The physics is actually pretty straightforward but to recreate an entire scene is computationally intensive. So there are some tricks applied to speed the process." And I glanced from the road to my colleague, an expat currently living in southeast Asia, and found him comfortably interesting, attractive and accessible.

***

"My sister is pretty sick," she noted when he finally let her speak. "So I wanted to go home and spend some time with my family. She has cancer and it's spread everywhere so I need to talk to her after this latest operation. Help my parents cope a little."

"Yeah," he replied, sounding mostly bored. "So you want to get a drink after we land?"

"My dad is coming to pick me up," she said. "Otherwise, maybe. Thanks."

"So you'd go if he wasn't coming to get you?" he confirmed. "Call him and tell him I'll bring you home later."

***

"I get frustrated," I told him. "There's just so much work and it genuinely is hard and he doesn't seem to be trying!"

"My impression," he said thoughtfully, "is that he has a good heart. He cares a lot and is probably trying in some sense but he's not very effective. So he gets frustrated and complains."

"But that does no good," I pouted and he nodded.

"I guess I'd rather see someone ineffective because he cares too much rather than because he doesn't care at all."

"Yes," I agreed. "But I'd rather see that passion translate into something productive and helpful."

"Fair enough." He smiled, shifted in his seat so his shoulders were angled toward me and asked another question to start a different conversational exchange.

***

"While we're waiting," she said, standing very close to him in the back of the plane as we waited for the forward cabin to get out of our way, "why don't we exchange numbers."

"Give it here," he murmured. "I don't want just anyone here trying to call me."

I blinked at them in shock. Hearing any more of his ridiculous chatter was just under 'eat a bug' on my list of unpleasant things to do and I was beyond surprised that she would willingly listen to another word this idiot said. He'd interrupted and ignored her problems! Prattled on about how he was too good for his girlfriend and how she should forget about her boyfriend! And she wanted to see him again?

***

"So I'll see you tomorrow," I said, sighing with sleepiness as I pulled in front of his hotel. We'd spent 14 hours together and he'd not irritated me once - I found him pleasant and smart, easy and amusing.

"Yes," he smiled and paused for a moment before saying good night and placing the strap of his bag over his shoulder. I pulled out of the parking lot and made a U turn to head toward home while wondering why I'd not asked him for a drink. Made some flirtatious overture. He was lovely. And I'd been longing for bed, but didn't particularly want him in my way when I tried to sleep.

It doesn't make sense, I decided. In general, I don't want to be alone. Specifically, I found this man utterly unobjectionable. Yet if I never saw him again, that'd be fine. So have I given up? Can one go for so long without sex that it becomes a negligible concern? Am I just too tired to devote energy toward romantic fantasy rather than dreaming of how it might feel to finish some of my professional projects?

Red Line

"Katie," he warned, raising his eyebrows when I pouted defiantly. "No."

"It's not nice!" I cried, stomping my foot hard enough to make my ponytail bounce. "Who sends emails in bold, red font that are in all capital letters?!"

"They probably don't have a lot of friends," he tried to soothe. "And when you don't have a life, you don't learn how to properly communicate without irritating the hell out of people."

"Do I have a life?" I asked and watched him acknowledge my point. "Yet I don't write in all capital letters! It's condescending and offensive! I should tell them," I muttered, turning back to my keyboard before he grabbed the back of my chair and wheeled me away from my desk.

"We do not scold customers," he reminded me sternly. "The next time a colleague does it to you, I'll help you hurt them." Soundly thwarted, I continued to pout as I went about another intensely busy day.

I'm still not adjusting well to our new regime. I believe I have proved my worth and seem to be under less scrutiny and criticism than before. But I'm alienating my team by working 70 hour weeks. I'm putting forth insane efforts to keep up and do favors and while our new leader approves, my colleagues are somehow less than impressed that I'm contributing to them looking like they don't care as much as I do.

I was sort of OK with it. Of all of us, I'm most interested in staying. Attracted enough to power to want to move up and anti-social enough to not mind working evenings and weekends, I'm someone who'll do well in Industry through sheer force of will. Yet it was not my turn to go to The Meeting this year since I basked in the Hawaiian sun last year. I spared only a moment to be disappointed, thinking instead that I could take a break, rest and try to get caught up while others were off in Europe. It doesn't make sense for me to be selfish and expect to go abroad twice in one year.

Yet plans changed and invitations were rescinded. And I am once again being sent to The Meeting instead of others - others whose turn it is to go - from my group. And while we haven't spoken of it since the announcement, I'm feeling awkward and uncomfortable about the whole thing. (And not even the outwardly uncomfortable inwardly 'woo hoo for me!' feeling. Totally uncomfortable with the whole thing - I like and respect my colleagues and don't like being singled out like this.)

I'm also drifting into the realm of being so overwhelmed that anyone I don't like or respect is getting ignored and/or slapped back when they dare bother me. I don't like myself much when I sneer at people or scoff at their scolding when I miss their meetings. "I'm sorry," I offered today when a man I do like and respect approached me about it. "But I'm maxed out. I can do no more."

So when it was time to address the problem, I made a chart. There were little bars for all the tasks and only 4 of them made it below the 100% effort line. I looked, mostly befuddled, at all the tasks we used to squeeze in but that had multiplied so much that there was just no way anymore. Inserting the red line in my chart, I winced at what this meant - all the refusals it would mean, all the stress it would cause as we did what we could and knew it wasn't enough, and glared at the thought that we need help and aren't likely to get it.

I'd try to figure out what to do about it, but I need to sleep. I'm due at work by 7 tomorrow morning.

The Letter S

I am So Sleepy - that's why posts are becoming more gimmicky.
I have the Sesame Street Song in my head.
Sunny days, Sweeping the (wait) clouds away...
The Seagulls attacked.
It Sucked.
I had Sushi with Sibling.
Sprout keeps Screwing with Chienne. Batting at her ears, pouncing when she sleeps.
I feel Sorry for her.
And I Swat at him.
My Shoulder and neck are knotted with tension.
I think I'm Sleeping wrong.
Tomorrow, I'll sit on a plane for a long day trip.
I Shall face Pete for the first time since my defense.
I Still make faces when I think about him.
He's a Son of a... Sucker.
I Sigh with exhaustion.
So much So that I can't think of any more Statements.

Oh, flock.

"I have something for you," said the SalesBear as I rubbed my furry cheek to his and made a kissing sound. I cocked my head at him, frowning when he mouthed 'later' before heading to his place next to the visiting flock of seagulls he'd brought to our play pen. Still, I sat in my favorite spot, crossing my paws and placing them on my tummy, and listened as the gulls talked about what they wanted to learn, grinning when a fox eyed them suspiciously.

I was sleepy, wishing for nothing so much as a good bout of hibernation, but vowed to put my head down and plow through the day. I had put in a good 20 hours to prepare for the gulls during my 8o hours working last week and I was determined they would be suitably impressed. SalesBear did owe me, I thought, and I'd not been shy about informing him of that.

BossyBear told me not to help the SalesBear, I remembered, lip edging into a pout as I remembered my scolding. I said yes all the time, I remembered him saying. I didn't prioritize. I made myself sick by working too hard. I blinked when I realized I'd growled at the memory, adopting a friendlier expression for the seagulls as they explained their flight patterns and interest in our habitats.

I wrapped my paws around the bottle of champagne when SalesBear handed it to me, admiring its little cozy. I took it to my den, settling it carefully in the corner and thinking I'd never bought champagne before. But I do like the bubbles.

I settled in with the seagulls, their fluttering wings making me a bit nervous, until it was time to meet with the geese. They are just migrating through and have some very important business to complete while they are here. I have been recruited to help them, meaning that my schedule has gone to the birds, frankly.

"Hi, geese," I said, walking into their nest and catching my breath from the climb, finding a place to settle my bear body. "How are we doing?"

So they honked and I answered questions. They honked and I drew maps of migration routes. They honked and I nodded appreciatively of their stories of flying in Vs.

I lifted my head from our work after several hours, raising my paw for quiet. "I hear the seagulls," I noted. "I must go to them."

"How's it going?" asked a bear as I paddled past him in the pool, hurrying toward the seagull flock.

"Good. Fine," I called. "Geese. Seagulls."

They all had questions and requests, squawking over each other to be heard. So I fetched this and fashioned that, saying that they could of course use my ball and this pail and that bow to finish their project.

Placing my paw to my aching head, I asked the fox if he could finish up, spared a moment's worry that he'd devour a seagull or two, but shrugged and gathered my pretty gift and wandered home with only enough energy to get clean and snuggle into sleepybear clothes to rest.

11:00 last week

Monday AM - Deciding between 3 meetings, all of which I'd accepted - on my calendar.
PM - Fast asleep.

Tuesday AM - In a cab on my way to New York City.
PM - On my way home from the airport. Fell asleep before having a chance to shower.

Wednesday AM - I have no recollection. It was a 16 hour day at the office and it's blurred.
PM - In the lab, doing experiments that were failing left and right.

Thursday AM - At lunch with my parents, having scampered away from work after having a tense meeting and before catching another plane.
PM- In a car in Louisiana, leaving the airport and heading toward a hotel

Friday AM - Just arrived back at the hotel for a nap after an intense presentation to a board of directors.
PM - Just arriving at my local airport, gathering energy to find my car and head home.

Saturday AM - At Menards with my parents, picking out pretty new light fixtures for my bathrooms!
PM - Fast asleep.

Sunday AM - In the lab again, working through 10 hours of experiments due tomorrow.
PM - Planning to be fast asleep.

New York. See?

I felt sick in the cab to the airport. My adorable black flats were soaked through from the puddles and my hair hung wetly around my face. My coat was covered with speckles of water and the windows around me were fogged from the surfeit of moisture.

“Keep it,” I said of the change once we arrived and waved my hand at the driver. “Thank you.” I followed Sibling inside, grateful for her leadership qualities as she found her way to our terminal and decided what to do for dinner.

“Are you OK?” she asked after we sat in comfortable chairs on the lower level of LGA. She nodded sympathetically when I merely said “headache” and watched as I downed two Advil with my soda. Sipping her tea, she told the waitress I’d have soup and was blessedly quiet while I willed the sickness to ease.

About 10 minutes later, I made eye contact and offered a weak smile. “I think I’m better.”

“It was probably the wind and the cold, followed by a bit of motion sickness, with your sinus infection,” she decided and I nodded. All flights had been delayed – the same wind that threatened to blow the glasses right off my nose and the pouring rain that made it impossible to see the city through those same glasses slowing the progress of flights into and out of the city.

“I did have fun,” I offered. “Thank you for going with me.”

When we failed to catch a cab – I’m not good at it and have little desire to learn – at 4PM, we ordered our local host to drop us off somewhere interesting. “It’s my first time in New York,” I told him to soften the inconvenience and a trip through the park and many stoplights later, Sibling and I found ourelves taking pictures at Rockefeller Center.

I nodded eagerly when asked if I wanted to see Times Square and we wandered in the direction a friendly New Yorker pointed when asked. I was preparing to smile and thank her when she hurried off so Sibling and I shrugged and moved along in the opposite direction.

“It’s different than I thought,” I noted as we wandered. “I thought I’d feel more closed in and intimidated. It’s really just a city.”

She looked at me and recoginizing her expression as a desire for clarification, I shrugged. “There’s plenty of room on the sidewalks and not many people around.” We passed a clock that indicated it was just after 5. “There are buildings and they’re tall, but they have those in Chciago. There are people and cars, but that’s also in London. It’s no more snooty than Paris. No more scary than LA. I guess I just expected,” I trailed off. “I waited too long to see it,” I decided more confidently. “Whenever you build something up in your mind, it’s bound to be disappointing.”

Still, we bought cupcakes at the sweetest little bakery. We grinned and pointed at the things that were interesting. I peered through the windows at Toys R Us and stood for a moment facing the massive screens and bright lights across the street.

“I’m ready,” I said after about 20 minutes of walking. “I’m cold and wet and worried about getting a ride to the airport.” So we set about hailing a cab. In Times Square. In the rain.

“So,” Sibling summarized after I’d eaten my soup, cleared security and found our gate, “you – Katie – who has clear opinions about basically everything, are left without a strong impression of New York City.”

Hearing how odd that seemed – for Chicago feels like part of the family, I have a mad crush on London and was left breathless by Paris – I paused to consider it. “Circumstances were non-ideal. We were only here a few hours and saw a tiny bit of the city in pretty miserable weather.” Thinking it had been cold and rainy on my first day in Paris, I frowned. “No,” I finally replied. “I don’t have a strong opinion. I’d certainly come back if properly motivated – I wasn’t at all repulsed. But I don’t feel like I need to plan a weekend trip for fun because I had far too little time here.”

“Huh,” she said.

“Huh,” I agreed and perked up enough to find my boarding pass when they called the flight that would take us home.

Guided

"Imagine your body is in a field and though your eyes are closed, you can see the sunlight through your eyelids and feel the warmth on your face. You feel relaxed yet remain distantly aware of the problems in your life. Imagine the people who bother you, the tasks that are tedious, the bosses who think you should try harder as dandelions, their seeds white and fluffy in your field. Your breath is the wind and as you exhale, you blow away the fluffy seeds, leaving the dandelions naked and harmless. Insignificant, they begin to escape your attention as you realize you are calm and loved and in control."

I focused on my breathing as my massage therapist led me gently through a brief meditation. I saw the field and myself lying in it. I blew away the seeds while focusing on my respiratory pattern. I wasn't angry as I pictured them drifting away on the breeze of my breath - just pleased they were moving from me as I winced at the discomfort of the deep tissue work and breathed deeply when reminded.

"It is not a physical battle," said the pastor at a new church I tried. I smiled when I walked in - finding the curved pews clad in green cushions and the plain windows that let in the light appealing. I'd also approved of the website - podcasts of sermons and ample information to make me feel comfortable enough to visit. "The kingdom of darkness," he preached, "is already defeated but has not died. Since it cannot strike out at Christ, Satan and his minions seek to harm us. They make us feel weak and unloved, forsaken and in constant despair. We worry and fear - our thoughts race as we try to get more money or recognition or satisfaction. And we are distracted from God, His love for us and our purpose for being here."

I breathed then too, clutching the Bible to my chest as we sang and prayed and learned.

I grow weary of being a source of sadness and pain. So as I read, preparing myself for worship, I lingered on the lines in Ephesians 5 that read "Awake, O Sleeper, rise from the dead and Christ will shine upon you."

And I said to God exactly what I said to my therapist when she reminded me to breathe.

"I'm trying."

Diagnosis

"Say again," PrettyHair ordered, squinting at me with great focus. I obediently repeated the words I wanted her to say while we presented, listened while she practiced and smiled while approving changes she suggested.

"You'll be great," I promised her. "Don't get nervous - we're totally going to win."

And so we did - she, Sibling and I putting in a fabulous performance that demonstrated our ability to incorporate our manipulation lessons. PrettyHair opened with smooth confidence, her deliberate manner playing out beautifully as she outlined our goals. I took the middle, easily playing to my strength and telling an emotional story as I moved about the room. Pleased that everyone appeared both engaged and sympathetic, I nodded at Sibling that I was finished and she wrapped things up with her typical technical brilliance and straightforward style.

"I'm proud as a peacock!" our instructor cried when the class finished applauding. "You gals were just so good!" So we beamed at her and our peers, accepting their glowing feedback gracefully.

"I feel sicker," I whined as we celebrated our success with dinner several hours later. I'd dashed off to the doctor before joining them at a nearby restaurant and sipping tea while I glanced through the menu. "I mean, I felt bad before, right? I'm stuffy. My head is all full of snotty pressure. It sucks. But after she looked up my nose and told me I had a bad infection? It just validated that I'm ill and I should feel bad and it's like I gave into it."

I blinked when I realized how difficult our working environment is getting. Once we were off campus and at our class, we were praised and encouraged. We worked harder, thought more creatively and came up with something that gave us - silly as it sounds - no small amount of pride and happiness.

At the office recently, I perceive the feedback as being consistently negative. Any praise is weak and fleeting - soon buried under reprimands and criticism and questions over why this wasn't done better/sooner/cheaper. And that feeling of failure - despite desperate efforts otherwise - feels like my head. I get exhausted and woozy. There's a constant feeling of pressure from every direction. I grow discouraged - want nothing more than to escape into a book or nap.

"We need to encourage each other more," I decided after I'd settled my cup in its saucer. "Try to remind each other that we're doing well and to elevate the overall mood."

"We were good today," PrettyHair noted.

"We're always good," Sibling teased and I nodded resolutely. Tomorrow, I shall fetch my antibiotics. The professional illness, however, remains - for today - without a firm curative plan.

101

"I love learning," PrettyHair sighed, glasses perched studiously upon her nose as she adjusted her notebook, pen and glass of water. "I woke up so excited that we were in class today!"

Tired, I blinked at her in surprise before managing a smile. Replying to her inquiry over how much I must love learning with a shrug, I returned to my coffee and Kleenex, wondering if I wished more to be less drowsy or congested.

"I guess I burned out," I offered when she continued to look horrified. "I like learning - new experiences, new people and places. But I'm rarely excited to sit in a classroom for 8 hours, filling in workbooks and getting up in teams to practice concepts. It's just not really my thing."

"I guess you've done a lot more - and did it recently - than I have," she said and I felt a tug of guilt for not sharing her enthusiasm. Resolving to be a better sport, I shoved aside frantic worries over all the Urgent Tasks I wouldn't complete, closed my laptop and focused on the instructor and our lessons.

Had I not been so engaged, I certainly would have rolled my eyes over my own behavior, being one of the most vocal and teacher's-pet-y of the group. I did the prerequisite online training! I remembered the story! I could summarize the points! I have feedback! I know the answer! And I all but preened whenever praised for my knowledge or insightful questions.

I realized, rather sheepishly actually, on the way home that the course could have been entitled "how to manipulate people into doing what you want." And if there's anything that could hold my power-hungry little attention span, it's that. Learning to read body language? Understanding how to get around objections? What word tricks are most effective? Dude. Sign Me Up.

I have a workbook filled with notes. I received very good feedback after practicing in front of the group. (I am blatantly and unselfconsciously emotional. Many people respond well to that. Some don't - but I am learning how to manipulate them in other ways!) Had there been gold stars, I'm reasonably confident I would have received one.

What's more, it was fun. I giggled over witty comments and made a few of my own. My brain was busy - and happily so - as we struggled through creative thinking around new topics, learning to see familiar concepts framed through new messages.

"I'm tired," PrettyHair noted at the end of the day, once again contrasting my mood but this time she was sleepy and I was bubbly with enthusiasm.

"We get to come back tomorrow!" I grinned, thinking either Industry had some really well-trained, excellent instructors or I missed classrooms more than I thought.

Update

I joined them for breakfast after sleeping at home. We mostly avoided the water park - watching the splashing and crowds with wide, brown eyes and leaving after a fairly short time. Mom found the other pool instead and we settled there for hours - long enough for the smell of chlorine to soak into my skin where it lingered throughout the day.

I waved good-bye, giving hugs and kisses before leaving for my group meeting at work. And it hurt - the last toddling steps Smallest One took toward me before wrapping her arms around and clinging. The way Little One's long hair curled against her back as she tilted her head up to ask my mom when they could go swimming again. She's getting so big, eyes widening with delight when she realized she could touch the bottom of the adult-sized pool. And as exhausting as they were, I ached with the thought that it would be several weeks before tiny fingers wrapped around mine again. Before I snuggled blankets closer as they napped or sang songs to soothe.

Still, I found myself nearly lost in work several hours later, taking a moment to say a prayer of thanks.

"I needed this," I told Adam, turning before I left his office. He looked confused and I paused. "I needed a project - I have to feel like I'm valuable and that my effort matters. And when you reassign work - even with good motives - I start to feel worthless and stupid and miserable. So I withdraw more. I know delegating is hard for you - even more so when you're not sure how I'm doing mentally - and I appreciate your confidence in this case."

"Katie," he said, pausing and shaking his head. His phone rang and I nodded toward it before heading back to my desk.

I'm feeling more balanced, arguing without feeling attacked, working without the desperate desire to escape. But I have more traveling to do next week - the dreaded New York trip cannot be avoided, it seems. That's followed by a trip to the deep south. But at least there should be some interesting pictures.

Incessant

They were here when I got home yesterday.

I smiled as Smallest One rounded the corner and rushed toward me, arms outstretched as I scooped her up.

"Hi," I smiled at her, dipping my cheek to press to her crown as she buried her face in my neck. "How are you?"

Little One followed soon after, both of them beautiful and bright in the afternoon sunshine. Mom was sick, Dad grumpy, and my head continued to ache even as I swallowed more pills and listened attentively to their stories.

"I threw up on Wednesday," I told Mom. "Over and over in the hotel room. I just got underneath a migraine and couldn't escape - searing pain and sickness were just constant for 5 hours. I still feel the pressure, but the pain is under control now."

I made it back home with no real delays on Thursday, moving swiftly through the Charlotte airport to make my connection. I returned to several Urgent voice mails, blinking back exhaustion as I dealt with them.

I went to work on Friday, marching determinedly to meetings, making and taking phone calls and frantically typing email to try to catch up. It felt like two new problems arose from each one I solved and I laid my head down for a moment to try to catch my breath and prioritize. I needed the weekend to rest and take care of some urgent but non-priority projects.

Instead, I've played Hide and Seek. I've tried to nap through the worst of the headaches. I've told Mom to stop taking the damn antibiotic since it seems to make her pretty desperately ill. I shrugged and ate Valentine's chocolate instead of indicating it would keep both girls from napping today.

"I take bath," Smallest One insists, giving an utterly adorable grin. "In Aunt Katie's big bathtub." Too charmed to resist, we're at 3 baths and counting in about 24 hours. She's already making noises about the next one.

Tomorrow we go to the water park, obeying Mom's reservation for the last of the Valentine's Day gifts. Instead of sleeping in and working by the fire, I'll put on a swimsuit and chase small bodies around pools and slides. Which is lovely, I know - they're delightful and smart and I love them very much.

But I'm ready for this - 'this' having any definition - to be over.

Polar Party

I hung my visitor badge around my neck, smiling my thanks at the zookeeper before lumbering into the building with one large bag on my shoulder and another rolling behind me. I had to shuffle my luggage in order to extend a paw, greeting the other creatures who had invited me to their zoo for a brief stay.

"Welcome!" they said, all of them smiling and mentioning their names before looking at me expectantly.

"Hello," I replied, charmed, and cocked my head inquisitively.

"So," their leader said, linking his hooves in front of him, dipping his antlers abashedly. "Did you bring the toy?"

"I did," I said, realizing what they wanted and nodding my furry nose toward the bag on wheels. The herd of reindeer took a collective step forward before pausing, allowing their leader to eagerly reach for the handle and scamper away.

"We're going to look at it!" he called over his shoulder, leaving me to trail behind them as I looked curiously around at their habitat. I sat in a corner of a conference room, watching them remove the object and place it reverently on a table. They murmured to each other, some of them pawing in the ground to make notes and draw pictures. I couldn't bring myself to stop them from dismantling it, so adorable was their interest. So I watched as they carefully took the sleigh apart, the herd watching a single member as he worked to remove pieces and set them carefully aside.

A line formed where the reindeer waited patiently for their turn to view the pieces of sleigh up close. They tended to pair, discussing how wonderful or interesting it was. When they finished, they would bow their heads in thanks to me, antlers standing regally, while I dipped my chin in return, smiling in affectionate amusement.

"How," their leader said, speaking to me though his attention remained on the toy, "did you get it?"

"I took it," I said simply. "Went in on Sunday, picked it up, put it in my bag and asked the people to put it on the plane." I took a moment to think a tranquilizer and comfortable crate probably would have been better than the multiple flights and long layovers and shrugged. "It's not a big deal."

"No," he argued, "it's wonderful. We're very happy." And I nodded as I smiled.

Apart from that, it's mostly been an odd visit. While these reindeer know a lot about Christmas (let's say - I don't really know anything about reindeer) and had great interest in the sleigh, they shocked me by not knowing how to link reins to it and pull.

"So," I ventured, having watched them try and fail for about an hour, "you think it's very nice but you can't use it?" Then they looked terribly disappointed so I tried to think of something soothing to offer.

"I can make comfortable blankets for the seats," one of them told me. I nodded, suitably impressed and smoothed my paw over one after he fetched it.

"I'm working on self-propelled sleighs," one of them offered bashfully, motioning me over to show me his initial design. I patted his back in congratulations for the effort.

I know very little about sleighs, but I tried to answer their questions, directing them back to the snowy topics where I had more expertise. I wanted to be helpful but was largely confused by their strategy. While orderly and patient while viewing the fancy sleigh I'd brought, they kept bumping into each other and tangling antlers as I watched them work. They dispersed randomly and I wasn't sure what direction - if any - they were collectively heading. Still, I found myself fond of them.

I am to head back to my own habitat tomorrow. Interestingly enough, that will change only if I get snowed in.

(Not so) small talk

She had perfect skin.

I notice such things, especially when seated shoulder to shoulder with someone on a plane. And though I'm normally not one for chatting with seatmates - far too much effort to pay attention and converse - I was replying to her questions with relative ease. No, the air vent wasn't making me chilly. No, I didn't live in connecting city - I was traveling somewhere else on business. Yes, I did do a fair amount of travel for work. No, I don't tend to mind it all that much.

"It exhausts me," she admitted and I smiled.

"It's very detailed," I agreed. "Keeping track of times and belongings. Watching people and being mildly uncomfortable for long periods of time. Having to do what people tell you - and pretend you're very pleased to do so. I understand - it still makes me tired. But I've adapted." I paused, feeling sorry that she looked so troubled over it, and decided to distract her. "Did you go somewhere fun?" I chirped, doing my best impression of friendly and happy Katie.

"I was visiting my daughter," she told me and I smiled encouragingly. She mentioned a hospital and mere seconds before I asked how long her daughter had worked there, her expression soured and she shook her head. "I'd hoped to bring her home," she said. "They told me they'd only need 3 months before she was better."

"Oh," I said softly, reaching to touch her arm. So we discussed mental illness - autism and anxiety, depression and obsession. I nodded when she told me her eldest child never slept well. Winced when she tried to articulate the magnitude of pain.

"It's so confusing and frustrating and exhausting to have your brain work against you," she told me, wringing her hands. "To make you feel miserable and alone and hopeless."

"Yes," I agreed simply as we sat together above the clouds, talking quietly as the sun disappeared for the day.

A lengthy layover, turbulent flight and shuttle ride later, I stood at the rental car counter.

"Tired," I answered - as I always do - when asked how I was. I never fail to hope this encourages them to hurry through the paperwork. I am consistently disappointed.

"There was a man here the other night?" she said, ignoring my repeated glances at my credit card and license lying on the counter before her. "He arrived just after they closed," she glanced briefly toward a competitive company and I wondered wistfully if they would give me a car so I could reach my hotel. "It was barely past midnight and his car had broken, but nobody was here to give him another one."

"Uh huh," I sighed, merely hoping the story was a short one.

"I told him he could go get a hotel nearby, but he said he'd just work through the night. So he graded papers - right over there." She pointed to some nearby chairs and I obediently turned to look, nodding my understanding of where he'd sat to wait.

"He taught calculus," she continued, "and at 6:20, he'd finished a stack of papers but was nodding off." I smiled at the level of detail, realizing she liked him - had noticed something about him and decided it wonderful. "He had to teach at class at 11," she said and I decided her voice sounded a bit wistful - she wanted Calculus Boy much like I wanted a Rental Car. Still, I remembered what that was like - though it's been far too long since I've had a good crush on someone. To recall details and to have your mind so full of him that stories and statements and questions just slip out without you meaning to reveal them.

It's fascinating how people connect and release. How random encounters can somehow be meaningful. Perhaps it strikes me because I'm typically oblivious, avoiding any sort of interaction when I could otherwise get lost in my own thoughts. But those two women stood against the tedium of travel and made an impression. And as I continue to struggle out of this episode I'm having, it's good - even for a few moments - to shift my focus outward.

Sunglasses & Sneakers

Writing helps. It is somehow comforting that I can - with effort - articulate what's happening. That there is some avenue through which a good piece of me can escape the darkness, make a meager mark on a sliver of the internet and then rest.

The comments help more and I wept a little in some mixture of gratitude and wonder that people see the effort to reach out and pause to extend a gesture in return. I'm hyper-sensitive right now, I know, but that strikes me as impossibly beautiful. And even before I opened this laptop, for I woke and checked work email, read a bit, went for a walk and showered before looking at Gmail, I felt sure that someone, somewhere, would offer something kind. It's simply the way of this corner of the blogging community and such a fact soothes me.

"We'll go somewhere new," I told Chienne this morning even as I scowled and jogged upstairs to grab the camera I'd forgotten. Went back again for socks. Searched once more for shoes. I made one last trip, surprised she didn't bark at me in sheer exasperation, to put in my contacts, thinking I'd been in glasses since October. I felt nearly hopeful, I decided, settling into the car - Chienne beside me, sunglasses perched on my nose and new sneakers tied neatly on my feet.

I followed familiar roads - my normal route to work, actually - and pulled over neatly at a path by railroad tracks. Then I panicked, having dropped my keys under the seat, worrying over a happy hound prancing too near the road while I searched for the key. It was too cold. I didn't know if dogs were allowed. I could get a cramp. Fall down! She could run away! Yet when I attempted to flee, Chienne frankly refused to get in the Jeep, stubbornly eager to have her promised walk, especially in a new and interesting location.

So we walked, making our way to the trail and heading east. Gloves on, hood up and right hand clinging to her leash, I followed as she moved along the pavement. I eventually relaxed enough to listen to the creek as it bubbled off to one side. I paused at the wooden bridge to take photos, enjoying the way my shoes sounded as we walked across the boards, the way the water sparkled under the partly cloudy sky, the way snow drifted gently to the sides. So I breathed, the air feeling cold as I inhaled, and let myself relax into the rhythm of walking.

I read all three new books once I thawed and returned home, losing myself in words upstairs by the fire and downstairs under blankets. Chienne and Sprout stayed close, napping and wrestling and napping again as afternoon hours drifted by and darkness fell again. I'm slow, settling into a post-panic lull perhaps, but feel slightly less listless than before. I'm able to pick up messes, albeit haphazardly, and answer email, though only the important ones.

Dad arrives tomorrow, for I travel again on Monday. I'll be gone a couple of nights and can't decide whether I welcome the break in my miserable routine or dread the disruption as I desperately seek balance again. Regardless, I'm to go and so I will.

As for vacations, I've little talent for them. I'm more of the 'live to work' type and I get twitchy when I don't know what's happening or if I'm needed for something or other. Worse still, when I do relax and actually let go, I'm loathe to return to my reality. So - for now, for better or worse - I'm struggling through my days and hoping they begin to feel consuming and fulfilling again. I'll get through this next bit of travel and my family will visit immediately after.

And when it's hard - for I've no doubt it sometimes will be - I'll picture the moment outside my car this morning, Chienne tugging insistently on her leash and demanding we go explore, even when potential consequences left me terrified. And remember that what sometimes feels impossible in the beginning often levels out and becomes manageable, even with moments of beauty, in the end.

Depressing

I am, as always, proud as a peacock of my new header and sidebar graphics. Tres Parisian if you will, but I remain wildly infatuated with the photos from those hundred hours or so I spent in France.

A new header, as (almost) always, signifies I have excessive spare time and am likely huddled at home, hiding from the outside world in a fit of depression. I am less than proud of my behavior of late.

I'm lashing out in moments of energy, effortlessly bringing anyone around to my level of misery whether that requires them to get angry or feel sorry for me or get worried about some minuscule problem I've magnified greatly. I feel ashamed afterward - bitterly so, actually - while I'm interacting with people, the pain spreads. As the black tentacles slip from the cloud that surrounds me, encircling others and wrapping tight, it feels as though the suffocating darkness eases.

I encountered a feeling of dark satisfaction after upsetting a colleague. He works for another company and I felt it utterly necessary to jerk him around, ridicule his attempt at a proposal and indicate I could easily go elsewhere. I blinked in a moment of clarity - at once shocked and appalled and afraid - and told him I needed a moment. He blinked at me in return, surprised that I'd depart an argument I was dominating so completely, but I moved from the room and found an empty office. Closing the door behind me, I clasped my hands, bowed my head and prayed. The resulting moments of relative peace allowed me to apologize and help plan next steps before I escaped to my office and begged time to pass more quickly.

"This is a problem," Adam said of my frequent absences this week.

"I know," I replied, staring at him without offering a solution. He sighed, opened his mouth only to close it again and shook his head at me.

I'm never comfortable, I realized. I'm either overstimulated or horrifically bored. I'm sweating because the heat is too high or shivering in a desperate attempt to ease the cold - all without moving from my spot on the bed. I vary between absolute terror that I can't pay my bills to complete disinterest in going to work and ensuring my income continues. I avoid phone calls, glaring at the phone every time it dares ring, but am desperately lonely and wondering why nobody would worry over me.

I made it 8 hours today, I congratulated myself, resolutely satisfied that the illness had not forced me from the office after 2-3 hours as has happened most of the week. It hurt - it was hard - sitting there, wanting escape so badly I trembled and my head ached obligingly to offer an excuse - but I stayed. I prayed. I breathed deeply. I sat in the bathroom a lot.

Almost as a reward, Smallest One demanded the phone when I called my parents. "I talk," she said firmly. "Aunt Katie? I talk." And I smiled over her, relaxing just a bit.

My books came from amazon - far sooner than they should have since I selected free shipping - and reading new stories felt more like a pleasant pastime than rereading old books in hopes they'd ease my poor brain.

My plan remains the same as always. Be vigilant about taking medication. Spend time in prayer and seek peace in the quiet. Walk outside - watch my dog enjoy her outing and increase blood flow to my brain and look at the world and realize it's not so terrible. Make sure I have some human contact - whether by phone or in person. And remember that I'm OK. I'm just sick, not broken. And it will get better.

Across the Street

I'd barely greeted the black lab before hearing a shout.

"Did you leave the door open? Guys! God bless it." I heard her mutter the final sentence as she scampered from the house across the street, calling the dog's name and instructions to her children in a single breath.

"I think you were supposed to stay home, sweetheart," I told the lab, looking down at her affectionately and smiling as she and Chienne wagged their respective tails. I had tiptoed onto the snow coating my driveway, trying not to get any in my black shoes before heading off to work. The hound at the end of my leash pranced, looking rather silly with a fluff of snow balanced on her black nose from when she'd buried her snout to better investigate some scent.

"Sorry!" she called cheerfully, jogging across the street and around the snow banks on the curb to reach us. I'd curled my fingers around the bright red collar that encircled her lab's neck, leaning down to deposit a kiss on the top of her furry head before handing her over. "Thanks!" my neighbor said, harried but cheerful. "The kids are supposed to be at school in 5 minutes - no way we'll make it - and the house is a mess and my mother-in-law is coming and the dog's across the street." She shook her head, ponytail bouncing with the motion, and tugged her canine against legs bared by tiny shorts.

"Good luck," I offered and she laughed before waving and moving back across the street to order her two children into the car.

It struck me as odd somehow - we lived barely 100 yards apart and were roughly the same age but our mornings looked shockingly different. Far from readying children and ferrying them to school, I awaken quietly to shuffle toward the bathroom, brush my teeth and start coffee. I watch the news on channel 4 until 7:00 while reading email, using commercial breaks to wash my face and curl my hair. I find clean clothes amidst general clutter and, once I'm dressed, Chienne whines her desire to go for a walk.

Encountering the cheerful chaos from the smaller house across the street was somehow disconcerting. Her husband sometimes waves when I leave for work early, his truck loaded with construction supplies as he heads off to a job. I see the children out playing with others in the neighborhood - calling to dogs or throwing a ball, riding bikes or playing tag. I wondered, as Chienne buried her nose in the fluffy snow again and I trailed along after her, if the little ones work up happy and energetic or slow and mopey. If breakfast was a messy affair or more like when Dad served Brother and me bowls of cereal at the counter years ago.

I came back inside to put drops in Chienne's eyes, check the food dishes and toss treats to the floor in an apology for leaving and a bribe to be good. I hadn't seen them leave across the street, but it seemed there would be chatter during the commute - questions and answers, jokes and laughter. My own ride was quietly lovely. I admired the way snow clung to branches that shifted slowly in the breeze. In the silence, I thought of choices - the series of decisions that leads a person to a given place, surrounded by noise or encountering only quiet.

By Any Other Name

Courtesy of a colleague who enjoys dumping work on me, I had the opportunity to discuss my role and responsibilities with a graduating dissertator last week.

"It's more business oriented than I thought," she finally said politely and I grinned before agreeing. My job revolves around communication - can I understand problems from our customers and collaborators well enough to translate them and motivate teams to find technical solutions? I sit in meetings and take phone calls. I visit sites and pitch solutions, listen to criticism and observe workflow. I don't code nor do I invent. And while I can occasionally test something, I'm more likely to write the plan and delegate the hands-on work.

From her questions, however, I have been considering what might bother me - what clearly does trouble some of my colleagues - were I a scientist in the corporate culture. Loss of independence is a frequently cited drawback thrown against better salaries, larger resource pools and longer-term stability.*

* Since we tend to hire scientists directly from grad school, I'm comparing against the alternative of a post-doctoral position. Given that starting salaries range from $85-100k depending on location and experience, we clearly crush even the best post-doc in terms of cash flow. We spend untold money (well, someone knows - that person isn't me) on research and development and access to equipment is rarely problematic. We also don't institute a '3-4 years and out' type of policy - you could spend your career as a scientist in Industry and be quite content, according to men who have done just that.

"It doesn't bother me," one man told me over chips and guacamole. "I actually think it's kind of cool - to realize there's a technical solution and a corresponding clinical problem and - even if the latter is outside my comfort zone - be able to learn and adapt and create something valuable."

But I joined a Rose meeting this morning - we've met for well over a year now to discuss Roses and how to grow them and what colors we liked and how they should smell. The group - all scientists - have gardens planned and are well along to hybridizing or whatever the hell one does with Roses. And they're quite content - this one with his bushes of red, that one with long-stemmed yellow blooms in crystal vases. It's a good group and I enjoy them.

Yet, when the first of the roses was done, it was handed over to me for productization. And they fretted, the scientists, before hesitantly handing it over - both thrilled they'd done something valuable and horrified that another team of gardeners would change or ruin what they'd created.

Sure enough, the product teams took one look at the pretty pink petals and shook their heads.

"Too complicated to mass produce," said the engineering team, stripping some of the petals to reduce it to base functionality and increase reliability. I dutifully bent to scoop up the discarded pieces, determined to glue some of them back on or save them for future updates.

"Costs too much," argued our business leaders, turning to engineering to ask if we really had to fertilize or if leftover water from the cafeteria would be sufficient.

But marketing was the final straw for the poor scientists. "It's pink," they noted approvingly, "but Rose sounds too snooty. We'll call it Tulip!"

Now I personally like tulips and, having talked to customers, thought the new branding strategy made sense. The inventors, however, visibly shudder each time they hear it, clinging doggedly to the rose name they feel is more appropriate and correct. So when I discuss Tulip as an upcoming release, I inevitably know if scientists are in the room since "Rose" is softly but firmly uttered immediately afterward.

In my mind, at least, it's not so much that the business decides what you work on - problem definition and prioritization tend to be embraced if the story is right and true. But the fact that you find a solution - grow and nurture, live and breathe - that is inevitably taken from you by teams you may not know or trust certainly can be a difficult thing.

"It is different," I tried to soothe them, but fear I did the opposite. "Tulip is no longer pink Rose. Certain features are changed. It smells a bit different and the blooms are smaller. So it's OK to have a different name - let pink Rose be what it was and know that it contributed to Tulip - a more accessible, distributed solution to the same core problem."

Yet there is a lingering sadness - a certain protective nature when it comes to the new bushes they continue to tend even as we look at purple Rose here at Headquarters and think it might make a very nice Violet indeed.

Slick

I murmured, my soft sound acknowledging he'd spoken without disturbing the fragile peace that surrounded me.

"Rest," he said kindly. "We'll talk later." I snuggled into the table, now supine after being prone for nearly an hour as he coaxed tension from my muscles. He'd told me, as I was turning over amidst sheets nubby from so many washings, that my energy was stagnant. Something about how I had wide channels - a large capacity for happy energy - but that my limbs felt heavy and blocked.

I spared a moment's sympathy for my stagnant thighs and calves before drifting into my thoughts again. He continued to use long, smooth strokes until finding a sore spot. I'd feel fingers drift over the knotted muscle as it resisted the soothing pressure, finally hearing him bracing his weight to push constantly against it. He pinched my shoulders, forcing the tense muscles to melt between thumb and fingers.

"I have a headache," I'd told him as we sat facing each other in the beginning. Holding my right foot in both hands as it balanced on his thigh, he pushed his thumbs into my arch and applied pressure. "I'm grumpy and unsettled and I just can't seem to fix it."

He nodded, nodding toward my cup of tea in what I took for encouragement to sip. I obediently slurped at the hot, fragrant liquid, feeling a mellow sweetness linger at the back of my throat after I swallowed. "We'll see if we can't get you settled in your body again," he said, putting my right foot on the floor and reaching for my left. I pulled my robe tighter and nodded.

"I'm afraid to get up," I whispered when he gently told me we were finished. My headache was gone for the moment, finally easing after keeping me up part of last night and nagging at me throughout the day today. I felt calm, finally settled and serene, and dreaded the return to worry and stress and uncertainty.

"Take it slow," he cautioned, smiling when I blinked my eyes before looking at him while I stretched.

Now, oil showered from my skin and out of my hair, my head no longer aches. I'm still unsettled but less frightened about it. I need to get back to church, I decided, but I think 90 minutes getting my back rubbed was quite worthwhile.

Bleh

I'm struggling.

In grad school, I would sort of shut down before big exams. The stress and worry would make me disengage - I'd sleep and study and basically avoid thinking if at all possible. I'd do a lot of reading and watching television and just wait for the test to be over, at which time I'd snap back to life and become (relatively) normal again.

I thought that same was true of this European trip. I was nervous about it - missing flights or embarrassing myself in front of customers. Running out of cash or growing ill and being unable to make my appointments. So when I had trouble spending full days at work, I excused myself by saying I was resting and packing. And I proudly kept up with email while away, taking the time at airports and on planes to answer email and write trip notes and enter expenses.

I grew concerned when I had to drag myself to work on Friday. I tried to wave it away though - I'd been gone a long time and it's often a bit disconcerting to return to real life. But when I found myself shopping online - examining light fixtures and browsing books - I was rather appalled. I never do that in Industry - I'm always busy and focused and intense! But I felt listless and unsettled and eager to go home.

Rather than pouncing on my laptop during my waking hours this weekend, I ignored it all day yesterday. I read five books and took two naps. I cooked and did dishes. I curled up with Sprout and Chienne and watched snow fall and then sun shine. And I felt the nagging unease that my attitude was wrong.

Switching strategies, I squared my shoulders and opened my laptop immediately upon waking (before dawn - jetlag is better now but still screwing me over) and began to send notes from my visits to the official list of people who must know. I finished my expense report. I did some other critical tasks. I even blinked at my To Do.xls document before sighing and going to find another book to read.

I'm going to hope it goes away. My calendar is full but reasonably mild in terms of the tasks this week. I should be OK to ramp up while remaining reasonably effective. I also have more trips planned - appealing since I'd rather avoid the office. So while it seems New York would excite me a bit more than Cleveland, I look at both of them as easy opportunities to be somewhere else for a day or two. (I'm actually more looking forward to Ohio - NYC has always freaked me out somehow. It seems particularly overwhelming right now but seeing as I've successfully avoided going there thus far in my career, maybe I have one more dodge left for February.)

I'd say suggestions were welcome, but I'm not sure they are. I'm not sure I could accuse you of not understanding since I don't get it either. I almost don't want to look too closely at the feeling, having no energy to think through it and overcome it. Instead, I'll continue to wish it away when I can't distract myself.

Return to Routine

Sprout had to remind me to feed him, leaping to the bed and nudging me with gentle purrs until I glanced away from my laptop and into his green eyes. I nodded in response to his steady gaze, rising to go downstairs and fill his dish with kibble.

Apart from that lapse, all has settled rather easily into normalcy.

I drove to work without thinking, moving along steadily and making the necessary turns to reach my office. Chienne and I had taken a walk - she waiting patiently until I put on her leash; I moving over residual bits of ice as quickly as possible while she explored neighborhood smells once again. I swiped the key card that had rested in the Jeep's console, right where it was meant to be. I settled my laptop on my desk and plugged in the monitor, mouse and keyboard before searching for my water bottle and coffee cup and going to get cold and hot water, respectively.

I peeked in my mailbox while peppermint tea steeped and smiled at people who welcomed me back, telling them Europe was wonderful. I received my award and took phone calls and meetings. I talked to Adam - giggling over stories and writing down instructions for next steps on certain projects. When I could no longer force my brain to function - jet lag is sucking away my stamina - I uploaded photos and ordered prints I could slip into the frame I'd bought before leaving.

I left early, waving at my group as we dispersed from one last meeting. I stopped to buy groceries, sleepily wandering through aisles and repeatedly consulting my list to make sure I didn't need to return tomorrow morning for cream (or tonight for Chienne's kibble). I smiled as I dumped the latter in her container - she gets so excited when new kibble comes. I settled food into proper places and tried to sort through piles of mail.

When I stared at an envelope for a very long time, trying to decide whether or not to open it when I knew it was junk mail and didn't matter either way, I shrugged and decided 7:30 was better than last night's 6 for bedtime.

I still feel unsettled - unsure if it's hormones or continued changes at work or other sources of worry. But it is good to be home. Perhaps once I spend a few more days here, I'll relax again.

Forty Facts (Actually, Twenty Things)

1. I have been to Paris. A gargoyle from a shop across from Notre Dame is perched on my freezer. The Ones have dolls from an adorable store on the Ile de Saint Louis. Still, when I think of it - I have been to Paris - it's somehow wonderous.
   
2. As I smoothed conditioner on my hair, I realized it'd been one night shy of two weeks since I'd showered here at home. I'd toweled my hair dry before bed the Friday before last and snuggled into pajamas before untangling my hair tonight.
   
3. I had pizza with my parents and a former neighbor last night. I smiled when they talked about how I'd walked from the Eiffel Tower back to my hotel. They told her they'd seen pictures. That I'd been to London and Paris and Munich. And they too seemed somehow amazed.
   
4. I had planned to spend the remainder of this week recovering at home and hanging out with my parents.
5. I returned to my house today because I'd been summoned. When the secretary of the boss of my boss's boss asked after my availability, I basically said it'd take me four hours to make the drive if it was OK to show up in pajamas and with my dog and cat in tow.
   
6. In fact, I asked for and was granted until Friday morning.
   
7. I actually think he wants to congratulate me on an award. I'm not normally so arrogant but I received email notifying me of the prize before anyone had given official notice that I was winning anything.
   
8. I asked Adam to check to make sure I wasn't to have anything prepared. He wrote back with a smiley face so I'm pretty sure I'm OK.
9. I went to sleep last night, nearly incoherent with exhaustion, at 8:00PM.
10. I awakened, sure it was time for coffee and conversation, promptly at 2AM. After frowning at the clock, I curled up with Mr. Sprout and did some work before I got sleepy again.
    
11. Speaking of the pretty kitty, His Sproutness has returned home after a lengthy stay with his grandparents. He went before Thanksgiving and returned after being cruelly captured and riding in the dreaded car.
12. He seems to be quite pleased though - he just came to say hello and nibble on the food in his dish.
13. Chienne immediately went out to investigate her yard, bark her hellos at the neighbor dogs and has now returned to her favorite spot in my closet to sleep under my dress suits.
    
14. I'm nearly out of dog food. I'd forgotten and for a moment wished I could call the front desk and have someone fetch some for me. Then I realized I'm not a valued guest any longer and would do the fetching myself.
15. I'm so tired it hurts. My goal was to make it until 9:00 tonight but it's not going to happen.
16. I have, however, unpacked.
17. Washing machines are miraculous. I took clothes that had been dirty for upwards of a week and jammed in a plastic bag from my first London hotel. I remember thinking I could never wear some of them again, having been through lengthy visits and plane rides and wrinkling my nose at the crumpled mess of them. But I pulled them from the dryer - all fresh and fluffy and wonderful - and smiled over it.
18. Oh! I brought home Camembert from France, yes? It Smelled. Increasingly Badly. Unable to decide if I could continue tolerating the smell despite the bag's demand to remain sealed until I reached my final destination, I decided I was growing ill and tossed it in the garbage at O'Hare while waiting for my final flight.
19. My parents bought me lawn ornaments for my birthday, in addition to a gift certificate. They're rather adorable - a grinning bunny on a swing that I'll hang from the tree in the back yard, a silly golden frog on a stone and a happy bear with a pot of honey under his arm.
    
20. I can't think of anything else. I'm tired. But happy to be home. Yet somehow dreading going back to work tomorrow.
    

Sun Seine

My morning meeting ran long, but was fantastic - informative and friendly on both sides. We had a bit of trouble in translation at certain points, but - the only table so far that's been dominated by a female presence - we soon sorted ourselves out.

I'd descended the stairs to the basement - a lovely spot with curved ceilings in some lovely stone I don't recognize - and had croissant with cheese and what I think was a clementine. Filled with a sense of wonder that's becoming familiar, I sipped coffee and sighed over the receptionist's voice as he called to request a car come for me after I'd finished my meal. It was chilly when I arrived at my designated meeting spot and, determining I was about 10 minutes early, I decided to walk around in order to keep warm in my dress and tights. It didn't take long to find photo opportunities in the blue light that exists so fleetingly just before dawn but none of them were overly good.

I'd had a logistical crisis in the morning and I realized I'd made the wrong call as my host - at my request - drove me to the Eiffel Tower early in the afternoon so I could begin this day's walk along the Seine. I had debated whether to start from my hotel, drop off my laptop, and head to Eiffel. But I instead decided to walk away from Eiffel and keep my laptop with me, saving my feet at the expense of my shoulders. (The hell of it was I could have put my presentation on a stick and skipped the laptop altogether. But it ended up being a negligible annoyance anyway.)

I don't know why, but the tower looked different than I expected. Having seen the iconic structure in photos and films, I was still struck that I had to correct my mental picture, deciding that the reality was better anyway. I said "No, sorry," about a million (well, 10-20 = a lot) times to the ever-jingling men with tiny metal towers on rings. Some were pretty aggressive and one called me a name - I don't know what, thankfully - and I was happy to escape the veritable army of salesmen and cross the bridge to walk along the opposite bank.

The sun was peeking through the clouds, giving me both flutters of happiness and fits of worry as I tried to take pictures in the shifting light. Still, the sky was gorgeous as it framed the Parisian scenes and I rather enjoyed my walk. It was, as I feared, my flats that gave me trouble. They are loose enough - and soles thin enough - that the bottoms of my feet were uncomfortable within a km or so and miserable before I reached the Lourve.

The sights were nonetheless spectacular and I sighed over them even as I paused to stand on my toes, trying to ease the pressure on my heels. I realized it was good I was going this alone - the pace was reasonably steady but fairly slow as I stopped to put on lip gloss or find Kleenex or toss my bag over the opposite shoulder. Taking photos for the blog (and knowing I'll show my family) gets me over the desire to tug at someone's arm and whisper "Look at that..." as I'm awed by each new angle. With a companion, I would have voiced that fact that my feet hurt and I was tired and thirsty I thought we were very far from the hotel.

Still, I was abashedly grateful when I reached the tip of the Isle de la Cite, not only because it's my favorite part of Paris, but also because the nearby Isle de San Louis contained a bed with my (temporary) name on it.

Yet, upon arrival, it seemed the breeze was suddenly bitterly cold rather than gentle against the warmth of the sunshine. My head ached, my feet were killing me and I was beginning to despair. So I stopped at a cafe near Notre Dame to eat, alternately sipping water and wine and nibbling on my ham and cheese sandwich (no fried egg!), frittes (which were so pretty I almost took a picture) and a nice salad with a mustardy dressing. I bought gargoyle magnets at a nearby shop before crossing the bridge to the smaller island. Then, across the street from my hotel, I entered a toy shop and bought beautiful cloth dolls for the girls. I even managed to find and use an ATM to pay for my ride to the airport tomorrow.

Then I slept. Because I am Katie.

I believe I'll venture out once more for a light supper somewhere along these narrow, wonderful streets. Then, tomorrow, I'll rise early enough to take a few pictures, enjoy one more breakfast with creamy cheese and crispy croissant and begin my journey home.

Sleeplessly Sad

There is no book.

I stuttered over my response to plotlines of what I'd written in the past, seated in a London restaurant, reasonably sure I was blushing at my silly attempts at forming some story. I'm not a writer. Not really a scientist. Instead, I've found a smart little niche that allows me to excel in being efficient and trying to keep people satisfied with what various teams are doing. And, with all due modesty, I'm rather good at it.

Still, there's something about Paris that arouses the creative spirit. I was struck by the passion when a couple embraced at the curb in the Latin Quarter, her arms wrapped around his waist while his hands tangled in her long hair. They were kissing while waiting for the pedestrian signal to turn green and while I admitted it was a nice way to pass the time, I also wrinkled my nose when he began to moan. It's Sunday morning, I thought. Have a little respect. There are churches all over the place.

I considered it again as I skirted a man on the sidewalk, bag of groceries in one hand and bouquet of roses in the other. The flowers were crowded tightly together above where they were held in his fist, the deep red of the blossoms creating a solid mass of delicately curled petals wrapped in purple paper. I wondered where he was going, resisting the urge to stop and turn so I might find out. While I don't know Paris well enough to set even a short story here, I can feel the tug of emotions. There's a seductive energy willing one to look harder or linger over sights or tastes or textures.

I filled my bathtub after I finished mooing at the cheesemaker down the street. (Do I seem like the person who knows the French translation for cow's milk? I was grateful, quite frankly, that I didn't pretend I had an udder while uttering my gentle bovine sound.) Settling into the water and listening to the gentle hum of the towel warmer on the wall, I closed my eyes and wiggled my toes. I tried to imagine a woman more beautiful and social than I am, attempting to mentally pair her with someone equally wonderful as I thought of how romantic my little room in the corner could be. Perhaps the stripes decorating the long walls would inspire lengthy, slow strokes of hands across skin. They could stare at the beams in the ceiling afterward, relaxing into the soft mattress and snuggling under linens as their eyes followed the straight lines of some beams and soft curves of others as they cast shadows in the dim light.

Their fingers would link, I imagined, even as my own did while I curled up in the tub, wrapping my arms around my legs and resting my cheek on my knees, water lapping gently around my sides. I swiped at a stray tear even as I sniffled, thinking despairingly of the postcards I'd tucked in my bag for tomorrow, neatly addressed and waiting for stamps so they could make their way across the Atlantic to my nieces. Would they, once grown, be horrified that it was possible to fail so miserably at finding someone to love me? Or admire that I'd found my way to the great cities of the world? Had a satisfying career? They're not mutually exclusive, I'll tell them someday - having a strong professional and personal life. It just turned out that it was that way for me.

So the writing of stories, for me, seems a pathetic way of imagining a happy ending when one won't occur - in the romantic way - in a personal sense. It's simply too awful, too heartbreaking, to articulate what could be but isn't.

There are random blog posts, sometimes with photos I've taken. There are masses of emails, communicating all sorts of advances and delays, problems and solutions, questions and answers. There are conversations - both funny and sad, thriling and dull.

But there is no book.

Impressionist

I was in pain right around 7:30. I had awakened - on schedule - at 3 and dutifully finished packing and got ready to meet my taxi downstairs at 4. He was a horrible driver - sudden stops, distracted manner, going painfully slow even when there was no traffic around us. Even as I decided this was like driving with Dad at his worst, I sighed as London twinkled around me in the pre-dawn moments. The Eye's blue lights glistened off a nearby building. There was twinkly lights strung near the Thames and I thought my final impression of this trip to London was appropriate. My stay there almost sparkled with delight.

I had some peppermint tea with my fruit salad once settled in Terminal 5 at Heathrow. I had selected the very last seat - 26F - on the plane as it was the only option that wasn't in the middle. I leaned heavily against the wall as I felt myself drifting into unconsciousness, every second of being awake miserably painful. My head felt light and hazy, limbs impossibly heavy and cramped as my body tried to convince me to lie down and sleep some more. Coffee, helpfully served by my friends at British Airways, slapped me awake and I sighed in gratitude.

I'd been drinking quite a bit in an attempt to keep myself awake and was rather in need of a toilet upon landing. But I easily made it through passport control and waited in line at the first available restroom near baggage claim. Seeing the line was crawling along, I peeked in and sighed when I saw only 2 stalls. Annoyed at the disorganization of it, I decided to find another place to go. After failing miserably, I rejoined the line and decided the CDG - and the people in it - seemed to lack all semblance of efficiency while peeing.

That took long enough that my suitcase emerged soon after I reached the carousel and I walked outside to join the line for taxis. Affronted when people were dawdling, I realized they were trying to steal a car from the end of the line! No, no, I wanted to exclaim! We get in line and you wait your turn! So caught up in being offended, I literally jumped when a driver began to shout at the man in charge of our line. They argued bitterly - with raised voices and waving arms - for several minutes as I stood there, wide-eyed. I continued to watch them as I showed my hotel reservation to my driver and he tucked me in the backseat and we drove away.

Pleased that was over, I tried to relax again and almost controlled a wince when we nearly hit a man who had cut us off. We swung around it, leaving me a little off balance and my mouth dropped open when my driver said something that sounded like "stupid" while he glared menacingly at the elderly man behind the wheel of the BMW that had gotten in our way. He spat out the p in stupid, was what I kept thinking, trying to be as benign a presence as possible. People from Paris are Pissy, I decided.

I remembered the beginning of my trip. My host said that my impression of the town in the north of England would have been far different had I come from a different direction. "When you go through the hills and see all the sheep and farms, you tend to think we're lovely. If someone drives through the industrial section on their way here, they tend to be much less impressed." Deciding the ride from CDG to the city was a non-ideal way to get to know Paris, I nearly closed my eyes against our aggressive driving though tunnels littered liberally with graffiti.

We made it to my hotel and I looked around with awe, certain we'd crossed into some other dimension that offered quiet and stately elegance rather the French curses and writing on walls. I obtained a receipt (even saying si vous plait in a pretty awful accent) and walked inside a hotel no less than heavenly. My room was ready, the woman at reception offered, telling me about breakfast downstairs in the mornings and internet access. A man arrived to carry my suitcase to the tiny elevator we rode to the second floor. He opened the door - one crowded with two others at the end of a tiny hallway - and I let out a coo of approval. The colors were relaxing and ceilings high. Appreciating the latter, I realized there were exposed wooden beams and felt myself smile. The bathroom gleamed bright white and there were brown toile throw pillows on the deliciously soft bed. "It's perfect," I told him and he nodded.

I set off toward Notre Dame, able to take only a few steps before stopping to take another photo. The architecture here is ridiculously stunning. The lines and curves - from the curb to the roofline - are just striking. It all seems old and elegant - both snooty and refined. Unsure if I was intimidated or infatuated, I continued to move through the rainy morning toward the Louve. There were men selling art prints and literature along the Siene. I kept wiping my glasses so I could see, thinking even the puddles were somehow superior to those elsewhere. I was positively heartbroken when my camera indicated my battery was nearly dead just after the Louve. Whimpering with dismay - I even bought this battery from Sony in Heathrow to avoid losing photographic capability - I decided I was rather tired anyway and could start heading back to the hotel. I'd get something to eat, change batteries and rest before heading off again.

I walked away from the Siene, drawn by the narrow streets and their pretty buildings, and got - quite predictably and hopelessly - lost. Learning from my mistake, I found a creperie and ordered, pleased when my waitress spoken English and brought me cider she said I should try. I frowned when she brought my plate, biting back my remark that someone seemed to have dropped a fried egg on my flat, brown thing. I looked at it, mostly befuddled, and glanced around to see that other people were eating theirs and speaking rapid French so it must be normal. Still, I poked at the yolk with my fork before cutting into the buckwheat surrounding my cheese and ham and decided that - as long as I kept scooting the egg out of the way - it was rather interesting.

Finally managing to find my way (only because I saw Notre Dame out of the corner of my eye when I was ready to turn the wrong direction), I headed back toward the hotel and was tempted enough to join the line at the bakery. Un baguette and (two fingers) tartlettes du chocolat later, I carried my items cradled in my arms and fetched my key at the desk.

So whether it's enraged drivers or poodles prancing on the end of a pink leash somewhere in the Latin Quarter, Paris is impossible to ignore. It makes an impression and I find myself complete fascinated.