Clipping Cattails

We moved to the country before I started second grade, abandoning our too-small house in an increasingly crime-ridden location for nearly 3 acres in a sleepy neighborhood bordered by several farms. We rode three wheelers and played baseball in our spare lot. We picked strawberries down the street and I walked to school every day until I finished eighth grade. Retrospectively, it was rather idyllic - my parents tried hard and I think they did a nice job.

For the most part.

We had driven by the same spot many times - it was part of Mom's daily commute. She had decided - as part of her 'goin' country!' decorating theme - that we required a jug o' cattails in the corner of our living room beside the giant picture of a barn by the lake that OlderCousin painted us. She had the container - an actual milk jug or butter churner or some such nonsense - and had painted the three-foot tall vessel a pale blue. It waited in the corner and my mother looked increasingly determined to fill it with "pretty" weeds.

I believe, at age 9 or so, that I had expressed my opinion of this plan. (Said opinion was not positive.) Brother was more encouraging, but at 5, who could blame him? (Though I'm sure I did.) So Mom stealthily hid garden tools in the back of the minivan and one day, instead of sighing longingly as we drove past the ditch that contained the coveted cattails, she pulled over.

"What are you doing?" I remember asking her, frowning darkly even as she grinned and hurried to the back of the vehicle. "Mother," I said warningly (for that's how I indicated I was serious), but she ignored me while Brother happily scampered from the back seat.

"Katie," she called in a moment. "If I clip them and hand them to Brother, then can you put them in the back of the van?"

"No," I replied promptly, pretending it wasn't happening as I stayed in the passenger seat, arms crossed and pout firmly in place.

"Katie," she tried again. "I'm not sure this is legal. If you help, perhaps your friends won't see us getting arrested."

"I can't believe you're breaking the law!" I gasped, but got out of the car to ferry cattails from Brother's hands to the back of the van.

"Be careful!" Mom called. "If you break them, I'm getting more!" I snapped that I was being careful and planning to tell Dad that she was leading us into a life of crime but she laughed and continued to attack the stems with her garden shears.

Van loaded and seatbelts fastened once again, we merged into sparse traffic and headed toward home. I remember looking at her, ready to complain bitterly again, and she giggled at me. So instead of whining about my mistreatment, I laughed too.

When Chienne and I wandered around the neighborhood in the pretty morning light, I stopped to grin at the cattails. Living in the country meant we spent a lot of time in the car together to reach civilization. The times I remember best were filled with teasing and laughter, and - as I age - the memories seem increasingly wonderful.

Given that I drive by this same spot on my daily commute, I fully expect to eventually find a spot for my own jug o' cattails. I'm equally confident that Mom and Brother would eagerly participate in a plan to acquire them.

Looking Up

The light was pretty this morning.

I stared out my patio doors while still curled under the covers, cuddling into pillows while turning to look at the time. I've not been sleeping well - somehow ridiculously jet lagged from a two hour time zone shift during a recent trip - so I took a few moments to decide whether I was finished resting or not.

I remained awake a few moments later, so I tossed the covers aside, patted Chienne when she sighed at me for disturbing her, and came downstairs. I fetched coffee and played online before grabbing shoes and sweatshirt and leaving for our walk.

Chienne had escaped yesterday while I was mowing the lawn, and - already frustrated the I paid the kid next door and he hadn't taken care of the grass for weeks - I decided to shrug it off and let her run around. She checked in at random intervals but frolicked around the neighbors yards and sprinted up and down the sidewalks. I normally enforce a strict "that's not yours!" rule about playing on people's property but decided to screw it. In return, she was remarkably good as she trotted on the sidewalk, waiting patiently while I took photos and humoring me when I told her how pretty the leaves were.

I came home to shower and dress for an appointment. I arrived promptly, reclined on the padded table and slid dark glasses over my eyes.

"Ready," I confirmed, wincing in anticipation before the laser zapped the hair above my lip. For the most part, the facial hair procedure is mildly uncomfortable. The follicles above my upper lip? They react by screaming "son of a bitch!" with each of the four zaps.

"OK?" the technician (first non-perky one I've met, honestly) asked before positioning the applicator right under my nose for the last time. I braced myself and still jerked in response, whimpering a pitiful "ow..." and wiping a tear from my eye. I blinked at her as she took my glasses and gave me an ice pack to put on my poor face. But I dutifully made my appointment for next time, merely laughing when she asked if I might want to do my underarms or bikini area.

I stopped at Target to buy presents for the girls. They're coming to visit in 2 weeks and I'm going to set up an elaborate scavenger hunt with games and clues to find Snow White dolls, Play-Doh, tiny flowers, coloring books, stickers, candy and Webkinz. Gathering pet food and groceries, I paid and loaded items into my Jeep before coming home to neatly place items in their proper places.

It's an odd shift - a set of random events that align and I suddenly feel better.

"Help Yourself to Happiness," MedicoreBuffetRestaurantSign invited as I drove toward my house.

"Thank you, MediocreBuffetRestaurantSign," I replied. "I believe I will."

Fine. (Maybe)

"So when you realized you weren't going to change the world - that this job was also hard and disappointing and not the answer to everything - did you panic and want to go back to academia?" my traveling companion asked, driving me slowly insane with his Extremely Deliberate approach to driving.

"Yes, I panicked," I responded with a smile at my own expense. "But, no. I never wanted to go back. I still don't want to go back." Wincing when he stopped at a light that had just turned yellow, I sighed and told myself to relax. I'm overly critical of men who don't drive well. It's a character flaw. But I couldn't talk myself out of losing respect for him with every failure to change lanes or merge properly.

"I did something like that," I noted, looking up from my notes scrawled on lined paper in a spiral notebook and commenting on the grant proposal. "X and Y worked but Z didn't. I think C is novel and fascinating - good for you." And staring across the table at the PI that would have been perfect for my post-doc had her location not been on my least desirable list, I still didn't wish for it. I don't need the publications. I don't want the grant proposals. I don't miss the thrill of victory or sting of defeat, such as it was.

"I was never a great academic," I admitted to a visitor several weeks ago. We had grabbed lunch at a cafe on campus after he gave an excellent seminar. Upon his attempt to politely inquire after my former research, I wrinkled my nose and shrugged. "You're one of those," I told him and he grinned at me. I paused, thinking if he wrote a blog, I'd likely have a tiny crush on him.

"One of what?" he asked curiously, tipping his bag of chips toward me until I took one. I held it between two fingertips as I decided what to say.

"Successful," I concluded. "Well-funded. Respected. Known. I was never going to be that and accepting that fact was always going to be hard for me. I wanted greatness, but I was more efficient and organized than creative and brilliant." I could have kissed his cheek when he rolled his eyes at my assessment, but settled on a smile instead. "But I'm good at this," I defended my earlier remarks. "I manage and encourage the greatness. I defend the brilliant people and shield them from all the mundane crap that gets in the way. I fight the funding battles, attend all the meetings, talk to the difficult customers and take the blame when things go to hell."

He frowned at me for a moment before offering another chip. He grabbed one for himself when I shook my head and continued to look at me while he chewed.

"So you've given up on greatness?" he asked, not unkindly.

"Such as defined by academia? Or my perception of that definition, I guess," I corrected myself. "Yes. I now find it ridiculous when people mention their Nature papers from 2001. I want to kick PIs who take credit they could give to their trainees. I think it's sad that much of science is done to get funding rather than because it's fascinating or valuable.

"So," I continued when he continued to look interested, "I now assess value from all that research and use it to define strategy. I work with amazingly talented people who seem to know and respect me and I take pleasure in that. I get exhausted and sad from all the crap - the evidence that people are less than they should be - more greedy, less capable. But I very much like my job. I hope I get to do it for a long time."

I do take it personally. I'm deeply offended when customers screw us over. I'm horrified when we lose deals we should have won or when people demand lower prices for truly valuable products. But it's also rather amusing when I step back and see this for what it is.

"You know," my traveling companion said, holding up traffic as he waited to get in the left turn lane even though I told him we'd turn left a mile beforehand, "despite all the profound goals we have and good we want to do, we're more or less like used car salesmen." I laughed and he grinned at me and despite the continued clicking of the turn signal, I regained respect for him.

"True story," I agreed easily and took some comfort in that before remembering the state of the auto industry. It's hard right now. I'm sorry if you're concerned about my mood or well-being - I think I'm fine. But I don't want to do anything else.

I Said NO.

I despise you, I thought, trying very hard to relax my face from 'menacing glare' to 'they pay me to be interested and polite.' A moment later, I caught myself picturing him as a frog and realized my internal scolding was wildly ineffective. When I conjured a lovely picture of a car squashing the frog and staring at a flattened creature that would no longer hop about so annoyingly, I sighed and gave up.

I was a very angry Katie.

No, wait.

I am a very angry Katie.

"So we make a rule," I explained to Dad when I returned home from my latest trip. "And I try to enforce the rule - do what's right, toe the company line - and the damn people complain to my boss and he just reverses it all! And, well, fuck! What am I supposed to do if Baby can just run to Daddy every time Baby doesn't get what Baby wants?!"

Someone approached me for money at the airport, taking my boarding pass out of my unsuspecting hands while she talked about how families needed house and oranges and string beans. And couldn't I help?

"No!" I said, barely stopping myself from stomping my foot while I looked at her with shock and disgust. "And this is mine!" I continued, snatching the paper back while she looked surprised. "I may look harmless," I muttered to myself, "but people should Just Stop."

"Fine," I snapped when a colleague - my least favorite in the whole company - asked how I was. Do not be nice to me when you're going to go over my head as soon as I tell you no. Jackass. I rolled my eyes when he told me good night later that day.

It's unusual that I'm quite that blatant in my disdain for another human, I decided. Yet it seemed to be my dominant reaction to most everything.

Yet it wasn't until just now, when I curled around Chienne and her warmth soothed my crampy tummy, that I realized it was hormonal. The rabid anger had seemed normal. Seething impatience justified. Crazed need for chocolate - I nearly got up while the plane was taking off to claw the candy bar from my overhead luggage - a standard craving.

Excellent, I thought when I realized. Still only about 48% evil. It's just intermittent circumstances that make me hate everything.

No.

"I'm sorry," I interrupted his scripted remarks after answering the phone, "but no. I'd sincerely like to help and I do support charities, but there are just so many groups that telemarket that I'm giving a blanket refusal."

"We only call once a year!" he protested happily, and I shrugged and cut him off again as he went into how children/elderly/veterans/sick/nature/household pets/polar bears/science desperately needed my help.

"The problem," I said clearly, "is that I can't help everyone. There are a number of very worthy charities but I'm largely ignorant of their mission and background. I have neither time nor money nor patience to carefully consider three proposals each evening so I've ruthlessly simplified the process. If you call, the answer is no. Send me email, we're cool - I'll consider it. But I do have a set of pet projects where I'm happy to donate. So," I concluded, feeling rather good about my decision, "I appreciate your time and wish you all the best. But I won't be able to help with a contribution this or any other year that you call me at home."

I placed the receiver gently in the cradle and repeated the same message when another person called not 20 minutes later. It's easier, frankly, to use general rules to guide my reaction to situations. I'm so mentally tired much of the time that having a flow chart structure guiding my decisions. For example, when dealing with customers, I ask what the right thing is. I then evaluate if doing that could get me fired. If yes, I apologize and refuse. If no, will doing it screw over my team in terms of workload? If yes, I apologize and refuse. If no, will doing it screw me over?

I used to go into this complicated ranking at this point - how much do I care about the customer? Don't I really want to do what's right? I have some time if I wake up at 4 rather than 5AM on Thursday and might be able to manage to move some meetings so that I can handle. And while I was internally debating and reviewing my other priorities, people sensed weakness, pushed me a little and I ended up saying yes.

I don't debate so much anymore. If I can do it that week, I'll say yes. If I can't, I'll offer to revisit it at some undefined time. It's easier.

The same sort of decision tree applies to blogging. Do I feel like it? If no, don't do it. Do I have time? If no, don't do it. Do I have anything worthwhile to say? If no, don't do it.

I'm fine. Stuff happens. And, eventually, I'll start telling you about it again.

Bad, Worse, Worst

Worst
I did a Bad Thing with good intentions a couple of weeks ago. Even while doing it, I knew it was an offense that could be punished by dismissal and - for some reason I still don't understand - I did it anyway. I have since fretted that I'd be found out until I'm rather sick of myself. Tomorrow I shall fix it.

It turns out that fixing it is going to be painless and easy.

Lesson(s):
When you know something is wrong, do not do it.
When you do something wrong, fix it sooner rather than later to avoid excessive worry.

Worse
I have been double booking my calendar for at least 3 hours a day. Every day. This puts me in the near-constant situation of having to make priority calls on the fly, frantically trying to figure out which appointment I should keep when both seemed too important to initially decline. It sucks. I need to see Lesson(s) above and knock that crap off.

Anyway, it turns out that I blew off a rather important call when in the middle of another important call. So now I face a rather familiar task - apologizing all over myself and then going over what I should have done two weeks ago. It's ridiculous.

Lesson(s):
Move appointments I can't make. (Learned and implemented this week.)
Release guilt over disappointing people when they don't make my priority list and I ignore them.

Bad
There is a particularly challenging group I deal with. Upon being disappointed with a situation before, they reported me to my boss's boss. It turns out that my dislike of disappointing people is nearly canceled out by my annoyance at being tattled on.

Tomorrow, while dealing with Worst and Worse, I have to deal with these folks and deliver Outstandingly Disappointing News. I dread this. Completely. A lot. But it must be done (or so I keep telling myself). But my stomach is in knots just thinking of it.

Lesson(s):
Trust no one. Do not give timelines or make promises.
Fear not. They've already been angry and sought revenge. Why not let them try again?

Dinner Party

Since I don't read comments (or personal email) at work, I decided that the first few folks who noted that lasagna was fine were right and went about executing that plan. So, dragging myself from work, I stopped to pick up groceries. While I wished I made a list (and did, in fact, have to stop again for cheese), it was actually a very simple and friendly dinner.

I started with a salad, tossed in a pretty green bowl. I melted candied ginger into the raspberry vinigrette and let the dressing cool before pouring it atop baby spinach, sliced strawberries, toasted pecans and a sprinkling of blue cheese.

For the lasagna, I browned the meat the night before, ending up with about a pound of ground beef and italian sausage for each pan. The sausage made the house smell wonderful - spicy and warm - as I sleepily browned the meat near midnight. After it was cooked and drained, I added marinara sauce (2 jars - one with basil and another with special olive oil or something) and let the mixture simmer for a bit.

While that was working, I warmed a half cup of chicken stock in another pot and then added a brick of cream cheese. After poking it with a fork and growing increasingly irritated, I reached for a whisk and a smooth mixture resulted. I regarded it suspiciously, but remembered that when Mom made this lasagna, it was beyond fantastic. So I yawned and grabbed my box of no-boil noodles and a glass baking dish.

Layering sauce-noodle-cream sauce 2.5 times (I didn't completely cover the top with noodles - I was running out of sauces) and using small coffee cups since I threw away my ladle (it was rusty, I think), I swore when I realized I'd forgotten cheese. Regardless, I covered the dishes (I did make two) with foil and tossed them in a 350 degree oven for about a half hour. Then I let them cool before making room for them in the refrigerator.

The next day, I bought cheese and sprinkled it on top and baked it for another half hour. Five of us ate all of the first pan and half of the second. It was really, really good. Plus, the presentation was simple - salad and lasagna went on the same plate and both serving dishes stayed on the table with a basket of bread and bottle of wine. One of the guys did dip his sleeve in the sauce, but it was several hours of friendly chatter and food.

Plus, since I'd prepped and cleaned the night before, doing only the salad immediately before everyone arrived, it was fairly simple to toss everything in the dishwasher after we had chocolate cream pie and everyone headed home.

So thank you for the support/suggestions. Now I have things to try when I next gather energy to invite people over.

Lasagna Recipe (Adapted from The Best Lasagna)

Half pound ground beef
Half pound of Italian sausage

2 cloves garlic, minced (I used your garlic salt)

1 tsp dried basil

1 tsp. dried oregano

26 to 28 ounces (about 3 cups) pasta sauce

2 tbls. red wine (optional)

1 cup chicken stock

8 ounces cream cheese

2 tbls. white wine (optional )

1 cups mozzarella
1 cup grated Parmesan (there's some left in your frig)

6-8 no-boil lasagna noodles

2 cups cooked, well-drained broccoli, spinach, peans or other vegetables (optional)

Heat oven to 350.

Thoroughly cook the meat, (garlic, & herbs) in a large skillet breaking up the meat.

Stir in pasta sauce, (season to taste and add red wine if using).

In a medium saucepan over medium heat, bring chicken stock to a boil. Add cream cheese, turn heat to low and whisk until smooth, about 6 minutes. (Add white wine.)

Spoon a layer of the meat sauce into the pan as evenly as possible.

Top with 3 lasagna noodles - there will be spaces between them but they grow when they cook.

If using vegetables, toss them evenly over the noodles.

Pour half of cream cheese sauce over the noodles

Add more meat sauce.
More noodles, then cheese sauce, then meat sauce.
Then I did a third layer with only 2 noodles because I had a bit more meat sauce.

Spoon remaining meat mixture over the noodles as evenly as possible.

Top with the rest of the mozzarella cheese and grated Parmesan. (The recipe actually calls for shredded cheese throughout the layers. I think it would be too rich so I stick with cream cheese between layers and mozzarella/Parmesan on top.

Cover with foil and bake for 30 minutes. Remove foil and bake for another 15 minutes.

Let cool for 10-15 min or it will be too gloppy to cut well.

Break, Psychotic

I'm stressed. Exhausted. Circumstances at work are changing. The role of my group is continuously evolving. I feel I'm disappointing people at every turn and have little in my life outside the professional that could offer comfort. There is nary a man who finds me breathtakingly attractive. The friends I have, while lovely, are either far away or also involved in some professional upheaval. So when my parents invited me to drive several hours to meet them, Aunt and Uncle for an outing, I impulsively agreed.

"You know," I said, glancing around from the back of the van as we entered the parking lot. "You brought me here when I was little. I still have nightmares about it, I think."

"Stop," Aunt scolded me. "It's fascinating." Mom looked back at me and I mouthed 'nightmares!' and she smiled before patting my knee. We paid our admission and wandered up a series of ramps before entering the first of the structures we'd visit. Immediately upon entering, I felt dizzy with the flashes of memory - the dim lighting and enclosed spaces, the musty smell, the prickly feeling that unseen eyes were watching my every move. I was taken to many years ago when, as a much smaller Katie, I stepped through those same rooms, tugging on my parents' hands and asking when we could go home.

"Fucking chilling," I muttered, bracing myself against another shiver and tugging my gray sweater protectively across my chest.

"Are you cold?" Aunt said, misinterpreting my soft statement.

"Terrified," I corrected her promptly, scowling at the low ceilings and lack of windows. "Why is there so much crap in here?" I asked crossly and she shook her head at me. I was annoyed for a moment before Dad rolled his eyes behind her back and waited for her to wander away to admire a lamp in a dark corner. I tucked my hand through his arm and nodded in agreement when he said the creator of this place was a nutjob.

There was just too much of everything. It took us six hours to complete the tour (Aunt's fault - I would have been out of there within 30 minutes), leaving the place feeling exhausted and a bit sick. (Maybe I was the only one sick. But did you look at that first photo?! That's not cool!) But - seriously - this guy was a demented fucking wackaloon (and I do not use the term lightly) if there ever was one. What was lit - and there was little that wasn't dark and imposing - was almost always bathed in an evil, red glow. There was music - always loud, mostly slightly sharp - created exclusively by machines. Player pianos were around many corners were matched with increasingly large orchestras that played automatically when people moved past.

The "collections" were littered with duplicates, like someone seriously unbalanced was just shoveling stuff on shelves without regard to what existed in the nearby cases. Yet I moved through the small rooms and tried to breathe through my mouth when some spaces smelled overwhelmingly floral. I relaxed only in the moments when we escaped to the outdoors, lifting my face to the sunlight and sucking in the fresh air before braving the bowels of the attraction once again.

It was, I decided, like facing my childhood nightmares around random corners. Old, sightless dolls with matted hair that waited patiently for an opportunity to climb from their glass cages and hide under my bed until I went to sleep. Hundreds of carousel horses mounted to walls, all hurrying toward a doomed effort to escape. The sheer magnitude of the crap made it impossible for much of it not to sneak into my subconscious - there was too much to experience for my brain to sort and process all of it while trying to keep from screaming.

I do not look forward to my dreams tonight, frankly, and admit that my impression of this place is fatally skewed because of my childhood trauma. But, as I moved with Dad toward the van so we could go fetch the rest of our group, I told him I did not like this place. And I did not want to come back.

"You said that before," he remembered, squeezing my hand when I reached for his. "You're braver than you think," he decided. "But you still don't ever have to come back." And with that promise, we drove back toward the awful place to fetch Mom, Aunt and Uncle. With one last shudder, I resolved to return to my life with greater tolerance having been utterly distracted for a day.

(If, for some reason, you'd like to go see this stuff and don't know the place of which I speak, send me an email. I'm afraid I'll need a solemn vow that you will not bring children with you to this place, but - once satisfied - I can tell you where it is and how to get there.)

Call for Recipes

I think I fell asleep for a moment or two while I was washing my hair. I've been taking conference calls starting at 6AM, putting in a full day of work on a special project then joining visitors for dinner and drinks. I am extremely tired.

I realized, after I blinked the water out of my eyes and finished rinsing my hair, that I had invited several people to my house on Thursday evening. I sleepily wondered what I'd cook for dinner and realized I have absolutely no idea. Mom made a very decent lasagna when she was here - I could recreate that. I haven't made cheesy potatoes in a long time. So there are contingency plans.

But - given cool weather and approximately 8 guests for a casual dinner - any suggestions for what to cook?

Through

After perching sunglasses over my be-contacted eyes and clipping a leash to Chienne's be-collared neck, we set off in the sunshine to do some thinking and sniffing, respectively.

My canine found interesting items to smell, keeping her nose near the ground as she trotted along. I followed, relaxing into a rhythm and letting the worry flow gently rather than swirl wildly.

Items of Worry

• My fibroid is no longer asymptomatic. Further information is rather icky and "feminine" so I'll spare you.
  
• I'm playing a part of putting people out of work. And the guilt is extreme.
• I miss the girls and don't know when I'll get home to see them.

I returned home and called my parents, speaking briefly with each of my nieces and feeling even more urgency to get home to see them. They're wonderful and I like being around them.

I took a shower and then a nap. I worked on some easy items that I wanted to do. I ordered pizza and nibbled on a couple of slices while sharing with Chienne. I signed on to chat very briefly to ping Friend and she decided to call to catch me up on the super-dramatic soap opera that is her new lab. (It is such a good story that is so very well told, but our blog world seems to have lost Favorite Friend to her new lab. The lovely part is that she sounds so happy. She's found a spot where she's appreciated for being brilliant and funny and clever. I still miss the blog posts, but adore hearing Friend sound so good.)

The other thing that pleases me immeasurably is that there are a few people that I see on SiteMeter who are spending time with my archives. I love seeing people read for hours - I've done that with various blogs and never fail to become giddy and flattered when people return over days and spend actual time reading what I've written. So thank you, unknown visitors (and people in the past who have done the same and written me email). I have huge amounts of affection for all of you. And you, with Friend (who I also met via my blog), made what would have been a gloomy evening rather pleasant.

Project Nightmare

“You gave a seminar,” he said and I blinked at him. I’ve spoken in front of large groups of people many times since joining Industry and present to smaller groups at least daily. So while I wasn’t completely unsurprised to not remember this individual, I still squinted and tried to place him.

“You went to GradSchool, right? Gave a seminar on ThesisTopic?”

“Oh,” I breathed, finally remembering. “Yes. While I was trying to get this job, actually.” I briefly wondered if I could find the blog post (I can) and grinned at him. “It feels like such a long time ago,” I confided to our visitor as we walked to the lab.

“Are you happy? At IndustryGiant?” he asked curiously and I nodded immediately.

“I really am,” I told him. And that’s true. I’ve found my footing, established a reputation and continue to struggle toward a life where I don’t work constantly. Where I can flip a switch and at least dim the mental energy devoted to professional activities.

I know this has not happened, mostly because of the nightmares.

On Friday night, after finishing up the week with a disappointing though expected meeting, I returned home for another makeup experiment with Mary Kay and TinyFriend. We giggled over dramatic eye colors and nodded in approval over the lip liners. I went to sleep after meeting up with a few other friends for dinner, returning home full of mushroom ravioli and drifting into a deep sleep.

As morning approached, I drifted toward consciousness and had vivid dreams. I was at an art fair – the blown glass and paintings wonderfully colorful in their bright white tents – with a man. As we walked, he reached for my hand. It wasn’t an entirely unwelcome gesture, but I neither initiated nor encouraged it. And while I didn’t really mind being linked with him, it wasn’t something that made me flutter with happiness.

He was around. Not objectionable. So I settled and let him believe I returned his affection while I was actually mostly unmoved. We moved along, looking at art and smiling at people, and eventually found a quiet corner where he pulled me closer. I wrinkled my nose when he closed his eyes to kiss me, thinking I didn’t really want his tongue in my mouth. While I tried to quickly consider my options, he pressed his lips to my cheek, then my throat and paused and looked at me before moving to my mouth.

I winced as he waited for my response, feeling terrible that we’d reached this point and desperately unsure of how to be kind and fair to him without allowing him further into a situation I didn’t think I wanted. As we stood there, he looked increasingly confused and hurt and another man approached and said my name.

I turned to look at him, my companion mirroring my action as his hands remained on my hips. The newcomer reached out his hand, indicating I belonged with him and confidently waited for me to remove my hand from one man's shoulders to place it in his outstretched palm. My stomach cramped and mind raced.

I whispered an apology to the first man, swallowing against nausea when he looked shocked and hurt, apologizing again and again even as I reached for the new man. The flutter of sexiness he otherwise would have caused was lost in my horror that I’d hurt someone, more by carelessness than by design, and was unable to find a way to fix it.

I pulled myself from the dream on a shuddering sigh, going through it again so I wouldn’t forget the details. I turned to my side, curling into mounds of pillows, and whimpered softly.

“Katie,” one of my colleagues said on my right, having worked with me on this proposal supporting a project from a much smaller company. “This will put them out of business.”

I nodded miserably, nearing the end of that Friday meeting that caused my bad dreams. “And I hate that,” I finally said sadly. “But we considered it, understood it, but it doesn’t change our business priorities. We just can’t do it until 2011 and maybe not then.”

“But,” my right colleague said – a man who is below me on the organizational chart, though not a direct report – “they worked on this with us. They need this to survive.”

“Katie,” another voice demanded attention from my left – this one from my level in the organization – and I looked at him sadly. “I can talk to them with you. Play the heavy.”

“I’ll let you,” I said sadly. “I understand – this was the expected outcome here and I tried to warn the company after our initial meeting. But I’ve never made this sort of catastrophic decision for a group of people before. And it is a good project.”

He nodded, regarding my sympathetically. I turned to my right and winced at his expression of defeated misery. “I’m sorry,” I told him. “We tried. I…” When he refused to look at me, I swiveled my chair and swung my gaze left.

“I’m sorry, too,” the man offered. “We make these kinds of decisions. And it sucks. You did your jobs to explore it and you presented it. And it doesn’t make sense for us right now. Our first priority is us, yes?”

“Yes,” I replied. “I’ll set up a call for you to help me tell them, OK?” Left nodded, pausing to rub my shoulder briskly, his affection clear but decision unchanged.

I waited while Right rose and exited the room without a word or gesture. I sighed, picking up my notebook and pen and moving sadly to my office to begin the next call.

I went to get tea, deciding on an orange ginger packet, to soothe my upset tummy as I muted my line on the conference call. I watched the bag as I dunked and swirled it in the hot water, wishing I had a Care Bear. Definitely not a motherfucking tea party, I decided, punching the mute button to let them hear me and offering thoughts on a different project.

Finishing that call and motioning someone through my open door, I reached for my mug and took a humid, orangey breath. I shook my head when she looked concerned, probably noting my guilty and sad expression.

“I’m fine,” I stated, anticipating her question. “What’s up?” As I added more items to my list and offered insight into next steps for another initiative, I decided I do like my job. There’s very little time to dwell on failures before any number of other issues demand time and attention.

And since ‘the failures haunt my dreams’ sounds overly melodramatic, even for me, we’ll pretend I didn’t sleep with Tenderheart tucked comfortingly under my chin last night.

Scary

Let’s say I’m afraid of goldfish. I actually like goldfish, but for the sake of this post, we’ll assume I have a not-entirely-rational aversion to the creatures. The additional assumption is that my job requires me to deal with a goldfish. It’s pretty infrequent and I knew about the potential before I even applied to Industry.

I heard it was time to face the goldfish and agreeably began to make arrangements to do so. I happened, at some point, to admit I was tense around aquariums in general but goldfish made me particularly nervous.

“We’re friends here,” Adam said one day. “Tell me what bothers you about it.” When I looked at him skeptically, he leaned forward in his chair. “Seriously,” he insisted. “Is it the tail? The fins? If you tell me, I’ll try to help you with it.”

“I’ll be fine,” I finally replied. “It’s not a big deal.”

“I can tell that it is though,” he argued. “You visibly tense each time it’s mentioned. You’ve asked me twenty times if it’s really necessary. So what about it is freaking you out?”

“It’s the whole fish,” I confessed, blushing and feeling completely idiotic. “It doesn’t make sense, but I have nightmares that I’ll get tangled in the fins. Or have to touch the scales. Or look in the bulging eyes.”

“OK,” he nodded and considered me for a second.

“I don’t even like the gills,” I continued, fixating on the fear. “I mean, I don’t get it! I have no experience with breathing underwater and it scares me somehow!”

“So what would make it better?”

“I’ll be fine,” I answered. “Scared, but I’ll work through it.”

“Katie,” he said and waited until I looked up from studying my shoes before asking again how he could help.

“You could stay with me,” I said. “Stand between me and the goldfish. Remind me that the goldfish is actually a neat creature and rather harmless at that. I think I just need positive goldfish experiences and then I can relax.”

“I can do that,” he said. “I don’t pretend to understand completely, but if it helps to have someone with you, we’ll go see the goldfish together.”

“Thank you,” I said sincerely. “I know it’s silly, but this is really sweet of you.”

He waved off my gratitude and, the very next day, crushed my sense of well-being by saying plans had changed. I would have to face the goldfish alone since the rest of the team planned to visit it the day before I was able.

“OK,” I replied when he told me, for that’s what I say when I’m processing upsetting information. I said it again when he said there was no way around it.

But after losing sleep over goldfish worries and fretting over fins and gills, swishy tails and bulging eyes, I found myself irritated over something else today and began to scold him about the goldfish fiasco.

“You made me admit being afraid!” I said, eyes narrowed in angry accusation. “I was embarrassed, but I went through why I was afraid and what would help. Then you said, ‘screw you, I’m doing something else!’”

“I did not,” he said evenly, blinking at me in surprise.

“Close enough,” I sneered. “If you didn’t care how I felt – if I was going to have to handle it on my own anway – why go through the exercise of examining the feelings and reminding myself how much I dislike this? It’s just cruel!”

He defended himself and, having spent an inordinate amount of time thinking about it, I shot down every single statement he made before turning on my heel and returning to my office. He followed me, lingering in the doorway while I ignored him.

“What do you want me to do?” he finally asked.

“Nothing,” I replied, staring at my screen.

“Come with us a day earlier,” he offered.

“I can’t,” I stated flatly, raising my eyes to look at him and feeling a twinge of guilt when he appeared worried.

“And I can’t go a day later,” he explained.

“I know. But I still feel scared and betrayed. Neither makes sense. I’ll get over it.” And I sighed when he left me alone, pressing a hand to my stomach to try to ease the cramp there.

“You don’t have to see the goldfish,” he offered 20 minutes later. I blinked at my phone and didn’t respond, powerfully confused at his shift in opinion. “I don’t understand why you’re afraid,” he continued, “but I’ve been thinking about it and I know you’re sincerely terrified. And I did handle this badly.

“So I’ve been thinking about you and your value to the team compared to this particular goldfish and its importance. You win hands down. You will have to face the goldfish eventually,” he warned, “but I can give you more time to prepare. Set up a situation where you feel safe and organized and settled because I know you do better that way.”

“Oh,” I said, for that’s what I say when I’m processing lovely information.

“So,” he said when I didn’t speak again. “Think about it and let me know.”

“I can do it,” I said.

“I know you can,” he replied quickly. “I’m saying that – for this time – you don’t have to.”

“Adam?” I said before he hung up. “Thank you. I shouldn’t have said anything about this – I should have just seen the goldfish and moved on. But I’m grateful that my feelings are important to you. Really.”

Feeling much better overall, I carefully considered my irrational fear and the potential benefit. And then, feeling no small amount of guilt, I decided to avoid the goldfish for just a little longer. What good is throwing a tantrum and getting my way if I'm not actually going to take advantage?

Barely Sunrise

One of the most deliciously luxurious habits I have is waking before dawn and curling up to think. I take comfort in the onset of sunshine, thoughts more reasonable and calm than they are earlier in the night, and consider some difficult concepts without the sense of frantic worry that often accompanies such ventures.

Since it's often unwise to speak openly about work, let's say I'm actually capable of having a relationship and pretend I'm talking about that.

In a former relationship - let's say 4 years ago during the time I happened to be doing my post-doc - I was a certain way. I threw myself into love because I believed in it completely. I'd waited and researched and carefully selected just the right man. Speaking words I could have scripted for him, handling neurotic shifts of mood with grace and humor, he actually seemed to believe I was attractive and somehow sexy.

I, in turn, was utterly besotted, seeing only what I wanted to see and willing to do anything to encourage his happiness. Try as I might, I remained painfully needy though, making 3 calls to his every one. I'd send emails and postcards and gifts because the very thought of him changing his mind - deciding as so many others had that I wasn't attractive or sexy or worthwhile after all - was terrifying.

Yet it happened, each of us growing more miserable and equally certain that whatever might have existed was gone. Making plans to stop, I abandoned each of them for far too long. He finished it, forcing me to release the grip I retained on the desperate hope that I wouldn't be alone forever. I decided there were at least some lessons learned.

When I met another man, I therefore behaved as differently as I possibly could. Rather than losing myself in immediate bliss, I was openly distrustful, testing him at every opportunity and never failing to express my derision and disappointment when he failed. Impressed despite myself when he was more amused than insulted, I decided that perhaps we were different enough to at least be friends.

And therein was the major difference - I no longer expect to find great love. I understand that there are some women who naturally pair with men - who, even though they may lose sometimes, will drift into new partnerships. Then there are those of us who seem to have our magnets flipped around - instead of the normal attractive force that should be exerted, we carry with us a repellent sense. So regardless of how lovely and funny, smart and charming we may be, eventually it seems that men tire of fighting the laws of physics.

Not all men, I told myself. I will not be needy. In fact, I will speak only when spoken to. There are no expectations - no issues if I don't get attention or affection. I'll simply be happy with what is - laugh at jokes I think are funny, spend time in discussions I find interesting. And, surprisingly enough, it worked for a long time. I didn't feel repellent and while I wasn't any less alone in a real sense, I certainly felt less lonely.

And when it started to crumble, I didn't try to save it, determined to finish this as differently as I handled the first. Instead of clinging, I released all ties, acknowledging I expected it to happen the whole time. There still remains a surprising sense of loss - of realizing I have a story he'd have enjoyed or missing that he validated some of my feelings they way few others can.

It was different, I told myself. And good while it lasted. But it's all reduced to a wrinkled-nose memory now so I don't see how it matters. I no longer exist in someone else's world.

Curled under my covers, staring at the fan swirling from the ceiling, I sighed and snuggled closer to my piles of pillows. Closing my eyes against the light coming through the sheer drapes on my sliding doors, I drifted off to sleep with the firm goal of not ignoring work again today. For though men go away as if I never existed at all, work is solid. And I will not screw it up this time. Demoralized and disgusted as I am, tired of the arguments and battles and disrespectful disagreements, I must make this work.

And I wish I could tell you how and ask advice rather than hiding behind lame analogies. Perhaps password protecting is worth another look, much as I dislike the idea.

Present!

“What’s this?” Adam asked, having muted his phone when I waved and walked in his office.

“A present,” I answered coyly before grinning and handing him the small box. He grinned and took it, opening the end to peek inside before withdrawing a booklet. He raised his eyebrows at me when seeing the name of the spa and I smiled.

“I was driving to work,” I explained, “and thought morale seemed rather low. We’re tired and stressed and just not doing well. So I was thinking about how I was going to demand you fix it and decided that wasn’t fair.”

“Of course not,” he interrupted and I sighed dramatically before he motioned that I should continue.

“I was thinking that sometimes it’s just hard – there’s too much work and too little time and people never seem to appreciate us as much as we deserve. I had just decided that I deserved a massage when I realized the whole team deserved massages. So I went to fetch gift certificates on my way in. You should all go relax. My treat.”

“Katie,” he said, shaking his head and looking down at the booklet of spa services again and pulling out the small certificate. I nodded happily and went to distribute the rest of my gift cards.

“It's such a surprise,” Best said before asking what they would do to him when he went. “I take off all my clothes?” he clarified and I nodded, telling him they’d let him shower afterward.

“It doesn’t say that in the book,” Adam noted, having joined our conversation. “How do you know they do that?” I rolled my eyes when Best went to get his book so they could frown over the massage descriptions.

“What’s the difference between a full bikini wax and a Brazilian?” he asked after we finished a conference call later in the day. I blushed before rolling my eyes.

“We’re not discussing it,” I told him. “You can Google it. From home!” I reminded him in case he turned to do it before I left his office.

“I’ve never had a massage!” TinyFriend enthused and Sibling was too busy to offer more than a distracted smile in my direction. But I felt remarkably good about myself. I’m lucky to work with an exceptional group of individuals and I enjoy spending time with them – even if it is often stressful and intense and argumentative. They challenge and support me. We go for meals and drinks and travel together.

And if a tiny part of it was a desperate attempt to buy affection so they’ll think I’m lovely and valuable, then nobody needs to know that but us.

Numbered List of Random Thoughts

1. I was always confused by fact and opinion. It seemed to me that "My favorite color is blue," should be a fact while "Blue is the best color," was an opinion. But I vividly remember my 4th grade teacher telling me they were both opinions.
   
2. I still believe I'm right.
3. I am not offended when men curse in front of me.
   
4. I am, however, charmed when they apologize for it.
   
5. I'm having trouble with medication side effects. Complete loss of sexual interest (which is fine, I suppose) and much trouble sleeping (which is problematic).
6. I can compose complete emails again though! And my inbox is once again under control.
7. I hate it when people are redundant.
8. When distracted, I find I'm distressingly redundant.
9. I've always wanted to give our prizes on my blogiversary.
10. Last night, when I couldn't sleep, I came up with two fabulous prize packages for my November 13 celebration. I'm very excited.
11. One of the prizes contains a Care Bear!
    
12. The other will be full of professionally revealing items.
13. Having a colleague who is not contributing very much really brings down team morale.
    
14. I therefore find I'm unmotivated lately.
    
15. I am also angry that said colleague is impeding progress and getting away with it.
16. There have been rumors that she's sleeping with her boss.
17. I think those are despicable and refuse to discuss it.
18. Yet I overheard reliable information in the rest room that indicates it may be true.
19. This makes me sad and disappointed.
    
20. Chienne is no longer taking her glaucoma pills, though she remains on the drops.
21. She is So Much Happier. She sleeps less and plays more - is all bouncy and affectionate and cuddly.
    
22. I therefore pick the risk of earlier blindness over miserably drugged.
    
23. The Big Bang Theory is excellent TV.
    
24. It makes me enjoy Monday evening.
25. I also liked Royal Pains.
26. Carrie recommended them both - she prescreens television shows and tells me which ones I will enjoy.
    
27. The evening temperatures are perfect. I start out with the covers bunched in the middle of the bed and slowly pull them over my body as it gets cooler outside.
    
28. I'm not sleeping well, but at least I'm not too hot while I lie awake.
29. My neighbors have taken to playing badminton.
30. I'm absolutely amazing at badminton.
    
31. It was the only tournament I ever won in high school.
    
32. I have decided I'm very afraid of balls - soccer, baseballs, kick balls, basketballs.
33. Birdies that float gently through the air are just my speed.
    
34. I'm very confident that I could crush the neighbor kid.
    
35. When I was little, I loved the Grand Prize Game on the Bozo Show.
    
36. I also liked Caspar the Friendly Ghost.
37. And Mr. Roger's Neighborhood, but mostly for the village of those puppet creatures.
    
38. I was in an airport and saw the puppet kingdom.
    
39. I don't remember which airport...
40. I might go to China this month!
    
41. But I was supposed to go to Europe last week.
42. Sometimes plans fall through.
    
43. Even when expected, it's disppointing.
    
44. I take Chienne for walks in the morning.
45. Now when I get ready for work, she runs to the front door and whines.
46. It's actually good motivation to go walk for 30 minutes or so.
47. My neighbor has taken to honking at me when she sees us walking outside.
48. It startles me.
49. I don't like being startled and have taken to glaring at her in response.
50. I should probably apologize.
    
51. Mr. Sprout is bored.
    
52. He bothers me at night - batting at my feet and cuddling incessantly.
    
53. But he's a sweet cat.
    
54. Sometimes I find him while sleeping and bat at his ears and cuddle incessantly.
    
55. I feel it's only fair.
56. But it's probably why he persists in waking me - it's how we show affection.
57. I am sincerely befuddled as to the controversy over letting children watch the President's speech in schools.
58. School is for learning - listening and discussing ideas even if you may not agree with them.
59. Beyond that, how inflammatory could he possible become with this audience?
60. I grew very concerned about what parents are teaching their children over this episode.
    
61. Then I started wondering what made certain people popular when they're young.
62. Appearance? Family? Wealth? Talent?
63. I wasn't particularly popular.
64. I suppose I'm still not - it takes a special kind of person to enjoy me.
65. And most of them change their minds at some point.
66. For those of you who've not experienced it, missing someone who neither likes nor misses you back is very sad.
67. Fortunately, I've become used to it and recover increasingly quickly.
68. The problem is that I really don't trust people anymore and have become increasingly introverted.
69. That's OK though - I like to read.
    
70. I finished four books in 2 days this weekend and enjoyed it very much.
71. The days are getting shorter.
    
72. While I welcome the cooler weather, I do miss waking up while it's light outside.
73. After waking, I have a single cup of coffee (cream, no sugar) at home.
74. Upon arriving at work, I begin to drink tea.
75. My favorite is mint tea.
76. It's always the first kind gone though - it must be a common favorite.
77. I'm always tempted to horde a new box when it arrives by the water cooler/heater.
78. I never have. Instead, I pick another kind - orange or black chai or rose-something.
    
79. I do not like green tea. Will not drink it.
80. If you pat Sprout, he will bite you.
81. I just patted him.
82. He bit me.
83. I have found his laser pointer.
84. He very much likes to play dot.
85. My house is divided into relatively small rooms on the main floor - it's not a good dot-playing location.
86. There is a tiny bag of catnip at the top of my stairs.
87. I threw it up here so Sprout would leave us alone at night.
88. It's utterly ineffective.
89. Know what I miss most about Former Institution? Other than Friend, of course.
90. The hand soap. It smelled like lilacs.
91. I believe meetings should begin and end on time.
92. I have therefore started walking out with a careless shrug at their scheduled meeting time, regardless of whether our business is completed or not.
93. It's like honking at bad drivers - if I don't correct them, how will they learn?
94. Two men (it's always men in my experience) can have lengthy email conversations about the idea of having a meeting.
    
95. I waited for 6 emails (1. We should have a meeting. 2. Yes. 3. Good - I'm glad you agree. 4. No problem. 5. I could meet on Thursday. 6. Thursday might work.) before I was sighing so much that I thought I was going to pass out.
96. So I set up the meeting.
97. That either makes me delightfully efficient or means I act like an assistant rather than a valuable member of the team.
98. It mostly means I get impatient with useless emails though.
99. Coming up with 100 things is a much shorter process if I don't incorporate links.
100. And I think this has been boring enough that I've coaxed myself into sleepiness. If you made it this far, good night and God bless.
     

Treasures

“This is to certify that [Grandpa] did on this date at approximately 2100 Hours call his lawful wife (we hope it was his wife because he kept calling her “My Darling” and “My Dearest”) for the purpose of making his evening report.

“Sworn this 25th Day of November in Nineteen hundred Forty Sixth year of our Lord:”

I smiled as I read it, having opened the warped wooden box that contained it and smoothing the tear in the paper with my fingertips as I started from the beginning again. My parents translate “cleaning” to “bringing stuff to their eldest daughter’s house” but when the treasures are such as these, I can’t say I mind.

Resting my head on Mom’s shoulder as we stared at the aged and folded paper together, I murmured that he loved her very much and felt her nod. I closed my eyes against the pain that I won’t have that – there will be no grandchildren to find love notes or enduring items to pass along – but reopened them to forcibly focus on gratitude that ancestors had enjoyed such relationships.

“What else did I get?” I asked with a grin, pulling myself upright from where I’d curled against my mother and wiping the stray tear from the corner of my right eye. I reached for a cardboard box this time, also showing its age, and slowly wiggled off the cover. Inside it were three small Bibles – the ones that only contain the New Testament – Grandpa had collected. One was from his childhood – addressed to Billy – and the other two were given out during the war. When forced to face your mortality, I considered, religion must hold a particular appeal, but felt pleased that he had respected the fragile books. Kept them. I paused to admire the fishing pole Dad was showing me, kept in a long, sturdy box that protected the more delicate pieces within.

Returning to the Bibles, carefully taking each from their box, I was left with a small postcard resting in the bottom. I reached to pull it out slowly, staring at it with an odd certainty that I’d seen it before.

“You don’t have to keep that,” Mom said and I frowned at her, curling my fingers around the tiny piece of cardstock protectively.

“I want it,” I said defensively, pulling it closer to me as I bent over to look at the details.

I have an inordinate fondness for old hotels. Part of what pains me about having my European trip canceled was the loss of the opportunity to stay somewhere historic and lovely in London, outside Paris and around Munich. My favorite pieces of art are prints of vintage hotel posters. Large wooden frames protect the edges as the sit proudly on my living room wall. I’ve always wondered why I was so powerfully drawn to them. Why any trip to a large city finds me wandering toward the oldest lodging structures, poking through gift shops to find old drawings of the buildings.

The postcard unearthed under the Bibles was of a hotel. A rather plain rectangular structure, it sat on a corner of Main and Markham in Little Rock, Arkansas. It was, at the time, “Little Rock’s Newest Hotel” and boasted 300 rooms – each with bath and ‘Circulating Ice Water’ that I personally believe was meant to cool the building. As Dad frowned while deciding whether or not to agree with my belief, I leaned away from Mom as she stared down at the postcard.

“It’s mine,” I told her clearly. “Not Garbage.”

“I know,” she said, patting my arm and reaching for the paper I begrudgingly handed her. “It’s where they got married,” she said softly. “He was preparing to deploy so she went down and wore a white suit and married him. In this hotel.”

“Oh,” I breathed, leaning over to look more closely. Then I glanced over my shoulder at the framed picture that hangs on another wall. Not taken on their wedding day, but close. And now the postcard, carefully framed, hangs not so very far away from their portrait and the other vintage posters I collect.

“It’s not fair,” Dad pouted after he placed the framed treasure on the wall a day later. “There aren’t very many pictures of me anywhere around here.”

“There are so!” I argued. “Well,” I paused, looking around, “maybe not in here. But I have several in my office!”

“I can see one from here,” he teased. “I’m in that collage, but I’m itty bitty.”

“What?” I said, frowning at him when he mentioned this silly mess of photos I don’t even remember putting together and certainly haven’t displayed in the 10 years since they’ve been taken. I was distracted by Mom’s giggles as she went to look at it and quirked my eyebrow at her.

“There are,” she paused to laugh, “two pictures of ducks and two of the lake and one of your Dad and I taken way off in the distance.”

“We’re an eighth of an inch tall,” he said, losing his battle against a grin, “and the ducks are at least two inches. That makes me feel unimportant.”

I smiled back at him when I went over to look at it, Mom still lost in giggles by the counter.

“OK,” I said after I swallowed laughter. “First, you’re about the same size as the ducks.”

“But I’m much bigger in real life!” he interrupted. “When interpreted to scale, the ducks are mutated giants compared to me!”

“Second,” I continued, undaunted, “they’re ducklings. Still fuzzy. I like ducklings.”

“Better than she likes us,” he told Mom and she kissed him on the head while perching on the arm of his chair.

I paused, trying to capture the memory clearly as they sat together, looking happy and loving, full of laughter and life.

“I love you very much,” I assured them and rolled my eyes and replaced the collage when they continued to laugh at me. Glancing at the other side of the room, Little and Smallest One smiled sweetly from photos taken the week before. The framed images were carted up with the rest of the items from home.

Oh. Hey.

I tried to write something meaningful. When that failed, I tried to revise one of my old posts such that it would be suitable for publication. No go on that either.

I'm OK. More bored than depressed. Just pretty uninspired right now.

Bad to Better

Not Good
"Katie," Sibling gasped when she rushed in the room. "I'm sorry! I saw him coming in and I was too far away and I didn't think it would help to yell 'don't go in there!' down the hall."

"It's fine," I said, still blushing as I adjusted my dress around hips and tugged at the hem. "It was probably time someone saw me mostly naked anyway." Then I shook my head and walked with any remaining dignity back to my office.

It was completely innocent. I had to remove my bra (in the name of science!) (seriously) and Sibling left the room before I tugged my dress up to slip the straps of my lingerie back up my arms. I was absently reading one of the signs on the wall and when another colleague walked in, I was standing in profile to the door, bra not yet covering me and dress hanging around my neck. Not classy. Pretty horrifying. And all before 9AM.

Better
I decided to call it a day a couple hours later, returning home to spend the afternoon with my parents. We went for lunch, riding in the Awesome Van (which is honestly ridiculously large - have you ridden in a conversion van before? It's like a small apartment on wheels.) and decided to hunt for clearance patio furniture at several stores before stopping at Target to pick up a few essentials.

"It's a good thing I'm better," I said at one point. Dad had been reciting his standard list of complaints, asking why I'd stained the floor in front of my fireplace by putting a plant there. Or why my air conditioning was set at 65 degrees (it was not). Or why Chienne was licking her paw. Mom was disappointed that the Webkinz site was down and was teasing me about the old newspapers they'd unearthed. While in high school, I'd written a column. I'd post one to let you read it but I can't make it past the first two paragraphs of any of them without being compelled to put it down and blush at my youthful efforts.

"That was deep!" I defended myself as Mom giggled over my post about shoes. "It was a fabulous analogy about growing up and transitions!" I frowned when I realized I'd written posts about shoes on this blog and wondered if I'd feel abashed at my worldview at some point. (I'd check now but I'm a little afraid to look.)

"My grandma was proud of me," I said, pulling one sheet of newsprint toward me and tracing my fingertip over her name at the top of the page, missing her terribly as I gazed at the loopy script. She'd made marks by my name and I decided she must have left it out at the retirement community so her friends could read what I'd written.

"We were proud of you, too," Mom said and I nodded, resting my head on her shoulder and feeling glad they were here.

Good
I continue to recover. No real sadness. A bit more engagement and thoughtfulness rather than the slow blankness that's existed lately.

I had curled in bed about an hour ago, nearly asleep before I remembered I hadn't taken my pills. When I might have blown it off a month ago, I dutifully came back downstairs and took 1.5 tablets. I'm continuing to learn how to manage this - figuring out what stressors to avoid (more to come on this) and how to cope when I feel myself slipping. But this episode appears to be drawing to a close.

So, again, I'm so very grateful for your kind and supportive comments and emails. It helped to feel noticed and valued when I was stuck questioning why people can't seem to care about me for very long. Truly - thank you.

Update

"I'll do it," I offered yesterday, speaking softly and smiling when four faces turned toward me in surprise. "I know how," I continued when they remained silent. "I even did a post-doc. I can write code and take data and analyze results."

"Of course," the project leader finally replied when his three scientists continued to look bewildered. "But we just needed you to approve the plan. Adam..." he trailed off, looking uncertain.

"Adam doesn't come to the labs," I assured him. Eager to escape my office - the ringing phone and continuously-arriving email - I wanted to remain in the working space of the building. After I literally shooed them away, they left me to work and I spent the next 10 hours carefully looking for bugs and writing down measurements and squinting at computer screens.

"No," I stated today in sharp contrast to my helpfulness of yesterday, though the speechless reactions of surprise were much the same from this group. "I don't think it's important," I explained, "and I'm not doing it." I looked around and frowned at the lack of reaction to my grand announcement. "No," I said again, just to be clear.

We did finally argue and I got to raise my voice a bit as I battled my way to victory. Pleased with myself, I returned to my desk and set to catching up from my absence last week and day in the labs yesterday. I excused myself from a meeting at 5:15, explaining that my parents were waiting at my house and that I wanted to see them.

After giving hugs and having dinner, we've scattered throughout the house for the evening. Dad's watching television in the living room while Mom plays on the computer in my office. I'm OK - certainly much better than last week, but I still feel flat a lot of the time, but with sharp bursts of moodiness. Each day gets easier though so it's getting to be time to thank you for bearing with me over the last few weeks. I am quite grateful.

Light & Shadow

I took it as a good sign when the sunshine failed to irritate me. What yesterday would have been a horrid insult is acceptable today. I believe I am beginning to recover.

After reading my post yesterday, it struck me as non-ideal to continue to swallow sleep medication so I stopped. Unfortunately, that left me awake most of last night, tossing and turning until Chienne sighed heavily and flopped on my legs to keep me still. I napped more than anything, waiting rather comfortably for night to end and came downstairs to fetch coffee when it was officially time to be awake. The main floor is clean, which helps, and cool air slipping past doors I'd left open left it comfortable to snuggle under a blanket.

Testing my feelings much as one would a sore tooth - pressing very gently for just a second, then using a bit more pressure, then holding for a moment longer - I decided to take another walk. Once in my depressed hole and protected by the numbness, I feel OK. It's facing people that frightens me and, knowing my neighborhood, I was certain they'd be outside on their bicycles, jogging the paths or walking their dogs. So it was back in my sweatshirt and flip flops and with a happy Chienne on the end of her leash that we set off in the sunshine.

I'm slow, I realized upon gasping at the man who sped by on his bicycle. I put my hand to my chest, severely startled, and looked down at my faithful canine. She'd taken the opportunity offered by my standing completely still to begin eating grass, like a brindled and very tiny cow. I stood, feeling simultaneously warm from the sun and cool from the breeze and watched her. I wondered if grass offered some essential nutrient missing in her kibble. Perhaps unkept lawns offended her on some profound level, compelling her to gnaw at them until grasses were of a proper length.

"You're silly," I told her when she looked up at me and I smiled when she wagged her tail before returning to her project. We finally set off again, nodding and returning the wishes of good mornings as needed. I reminded myself not to stare as I grew lost in forgotten thoughts, knowing I often look in the same spot as I try to regain my mental balance. I no longer feel sad, though confusion and an odd sense of guilt linger. I do retreat into the vague lack of connection at times, but it's easier to ease back into life. I just linger at the periphery since it all seems to fast and loud right now. But I've left the television off for the morning as I linger at the back of my pretty house while the bushes that smell of pine guard the front porch.

Chienne's nails tap the deck as she keeps watch out back, prancing across her yard to the fence as people walk by. Youthful chatter drifts by as kids enjoy the last bits of summertime, making me wonder when the buses will begin to rumble through the mornings again. I think I'll do some laundry after I shower - maybe I'll tell you my basement story tomorrow. But I believe I've successfully poked my head out of my sad, little hole and can continue to slow struggle back to reality.

Inertia

I thought, mistakenly as it turns out, that I'd escape this episode without any severe lifestyle change. I'd made it through weeks without missing a work day and had, in fact, continued to work weekends and long hours. Pleased with myself and the medication, I wondered if I was congratulating myself too soon.

I did little but sleep for the past two days, needing to take sedatives when I stopped being tired. (Not Katie-recommended, by the way. I want life to go away for a little while - not permanently. Do not take sleeping meds when depressed. It is not smart.) I talked to my parents again - they're coming up on Tuesday to check on me, though I expect I'll be somewhat better by then. I let emails go unanswered and hoped problems would be solved by a colleague. I held the covers up so Chienne could curl next to me and lifted my fingers when Sprout nuzzled my hand.

"OK," I said this morning, forcing myself to walk to the kitchen littered with cereal bowls and spoons and water glasses and make coffee. I sipped some while I put together my plan for next week, capturing items on my trusty list that had to be addressed. Closing my work laptop, I shuffled to the kitchen to put my mug on the mound of dirty dishes and frowned at them. I began to load the dishwasher, staring out the sliding door onto my deck at the comfortingly gray morning.

Pulling on a sweatshirt against the chill and slipping on flip flops, I clipped Chienne's leash to her collar and wandered outside. We moved in fits and starts as she sniffed and pranced, pleased with her outing. I decided to watch for pretty weeds as we entered the park and moved counter to the river's flow, pausing to snap pictures and smile weakly at passersby. I picked up the mail before walking back in the front door and somehow convinced myself to do a little light cleaning before flopping in the corner of my loveseat yet again.

I napped a couple hours later, kitchen clean, floors vacuumed and plants watered. After that, all forward motion ceased and I became still. After waking, I wandered downstairs and was conversely listless and restless. I tossed a book to the floor when it failed to interest me. Clicked on news stories but was unable to recall what I read. Took a bath but felt only vague disappointment when I didn't feel relaxed or sleepy as I splashed in the silky water. Instead, I stared out the octagon window above my bathtub and attempted to complete thoughts I'd started this morning when I stood and watched the river rush by.

It seems a rather sad prospect to never let another person in again. But I was never good at it - I can't remember a single instance where I easily made a friend. And I've grown to the point where I'm instantly suspicious of anyone new. It's not even a question of if I'll be hurt. Rather I wonder when and how badly or intentionally.

Unable to reach any conclusions this afternoon or morning, I examined my hands and found them pruney. I snuggled into clean pajamas and decided that at least I smelled nice. For now, there's not much more than that.

Rebuttal

I'm having trouble composing email. My thoughts aren't always linear and logical - I stare at what I've written and find myself incapable of correcting it so I stop and hope I can return to it later. I had some 25 drafts open in Outlook for work before I accidentally knocked the power cord loose and lost them all. I merely blinked when I saw the little lights weren't glowing on the closed computer and decided it was likely better to start from the beginning anyway.

I've therefore not attempted responses to your comments and emails. I do read them - more than once, actually - and they provide a warm reminder of what truly exists past my currently sad perceptions. So thank you. I will get better and remain very grateful for your thoughts and support.

When, however, faced with the reply of "Of course you can," to my statement of "I can't," I was torn between horror and rage for a moment before all went blank again. As I curled on my side and cuddled into a pillow, I wondered that someone could read what I've written, to know about an illness and to react with such...insensitivity? ignorance? Regardless, as I waited for sleep to claim me again, I decided that I'd not taken this opportunity to be clear. I've been thinking about it and while I'm not sure I'll do the topic justice, I can at least make an attempt.

Depression is not an indulgent state of sadness.

The best parallel I can draw is after Mom had her knee surgery. For weeks afterward, she would vomit at regular intervals. The incessant sickness stalled her recovery to an alarming degree and, after multiple nights tending to her, I was beyond exhausted. I had few resources left to answer her calls, help her to the bathroom or clean any messes. I wanted her to stop. I was frustrated and tired and I didn't understand what was causing the problem. Mostly though I was worried and helpless and I remember thinking, supporting her as she heaved, that she needed to just stop and begin getting better.

We never discovered exactly what caused the lengthy reaction - we changed medications, we took anti-nausea pills, we suffered through it. I found the energy to answer every request. I spent hours on the phone with doctors, ordering them to figure something out. And she improved.

Smallest One was actually born during this period of illness. And when Mom sadly announced that she couldn't manage to make it to the hospital, we did not say "Of course you can." With complete honesty, she could have. We could have drugged her heavily and arranged a wheelchair at the door. She could have thrown up at the hospital while looking through the window at her youngest granddaughter. But when she evaluated her desire to go versus the toll it would take to accomplish that, she said no. And if you think that makes her less loving or warm, amazing and enduring, then you're wrong.

What's going on with me can be loosely compared with Mom's reaction after surgery. I don't know why I'm reacting so badly to a small trigger. I've told myself for weeks to just stop and I can't. I spend inordinate amounts of time wondering what's wrong with me, feeling it morph into deep suspicion that everyone I know is just waiting to hurt me somehow.

It's pretty illogical. It's certainly not a good guiding philosophy. But it's what makes sense to me. I don't let many people in. And those that I do are good. This process of harming my overly-fragile psyche is utterly unintentional. But that makes it all the more terrifying. I never predict it - I think things are OK and then slowly realize they aren't and can never identify the moment where I messed up or something unrelated happened and then people are just gone.

I am currently unwell. And if you think it's "not contagious" then you've never dealt with a depressed individual. I remember Grandma sitting in a corner at Christmas just after she'd been released from the hospital. And she tried - I could see her effort to appear warm and engaged and could sense the frustration and exhaustion when she couldn't quite manage it. It made all of us deeply sad and frantic with worry. I'm quite good at bringing others down to my level, engaging them in some level of pity or sadness or concern.

So there will be presents. And hugs. But not now. I'd never planned to attend because of some travel plans and given that Smallest One is already have two weeks of birthday parties because of her divided family dynamic, she can celebrate with me when I'm better. When it's not so painful to talk to people. When I can sincerely smile and laugh and enjoy her. And - of course - that's OK.

I will respond to the other comments later. It's just easier to fixate on the awful right now.

Not Yet

"Katie!" Adam called as I moved toward the lobby at a near-trot yesterday afternoon. "Halt!" I turned, hurriedly trying to muster some energy to return his grin and hating myself when I failed and his expression shifted from amusement to concern. "Are you OK?" he asked and I made myself nod.

"I'm just not feeling well," I told him. "I need to go home."

"That's fine," he replied, frowning. "I'll see you tomorrow?" He mimicked the gesture when I nodded at him and I raised a hand to wave as I finally escaped into the fresh air. I breathed through my mouth on my way to the car, trying to ease the awful pressure in my chest. I drove home, swallowing against nausea and wincing at my headache, and barely made it into pajamas before crying myself to sleep.

"You'll call back tomorrow?" Mom asked, impressing me with the job she'd done to mask her worry. "Then I'll call the doctor for you if you don't get to it?" I spent nearly an hour talking to her and my dad. I felt OK. Not great - still queasy and unbalanced - but better. Congratulating myself on only losing 3 hours of work to this episode, I prepared to feel increasingly peppy today.

I did not.

I wasn't as sad this morning, feeling instead that terrible disconnected sensation. I frankly cared about nothing and no one and welcomed the ease of the weight. I pulled my laptop toward me, looking up the number I was to call at 7AM. Then I blankly watched the clock located on my digital cable receiver show that it was 7:00. Then 7:05. Then 7:10. And I never called, unable to manage even a twinge of guilt or duty or energy.

I did open a conference I'd arranged three hours later, having emailed Adam and telling him I'd be in later. The exquisite relief I felt when nobody called in pierced the numbness enough to make me cry again.

My trigger is rejection. I know this, so I ask very few people to like me. I have no personal friends in town - everyone knows me professionally and I'm completely content with that. It's far safer than the alternative and offers the option to socialize and share meals without risking anything very real. I'm a peripheral entity and there I will stay.

But when someone I do know on a social level withdraws - even though I've done the same thing before for reasons having nothing to do with my friends - I get locked into this horrible spiral of how I'm unattractive and unlovable and can't figure out what I do to make people who initially liked me turn away. I have faults and, selfishness being one of them, I've taken more than my share. But I try to be up front about them, neurotically warning any new people about all the ways I screw up relationships so I can avoid growing to love them if they're naturally annoyed or repulsed.

Yet it happens - people get to know me and then stop wanting to do so and it triggers episodes a lot like what's happening now. And even as I realize it's ridiculous, I get sucked down into it.

"How bad is it?" Mom asked, not able to contain her worry tonight after she took the phone from Dad.

"Bad," I replied. "I'm taking a double dose of pills and I left a message for the doctor today. So it'll get better." And I listened as she told me about Smallest One's upcoming party.

"I can't do that," I interrupted. "Be with strangers and socialize for hours with Brother's friends from the bar." I paused, shuddering as I pictured it. "I just can't."

"I know," she replied softly and I brushed at tears that had started to fall. It's horrible to know that I have to avoid my niece's birthday party because I'm ill. My breath caught as I remembered visiting Grandma in the hospital, waiting to be let in through each set of locked doors that protected the psychiatric ward.

I don't want this. And while I know I will get better, it's not helping at the moment.

Slope

I almost told Sibling. We've been together nearly constantly the past two days and I've been picking her up and dropping her off to avoid paying twice the parking fees. As we drove through a quiet evening back toward home as the clock ticked past 9 on its way to 9:15, the pain was so immense and the suffering so acute that I nearly begged her to help me.

"Molly," I said, for that's her name. Then I stopped, swallowed against the rising sickness and closed my mouth. "Never mind," I said when I was able to force words past my lips. "I lost my train of thought."

It feels odd - this sense of secrecy in a time when I could dearly use some support. But Industry, for all the opportunity offered and challenges presented, is not the place to admit weakness. In positions of power, I've think saying that my brain doesn't work quite right may not be the best move. Given our affectionately competitive relationship and overall gossipy environment, I decided the benefit wasn't worth the cost when it came to Sibling.

It was after she thanked me and grabbed her bag from the backseat that I drove toward home and released the words choking me.

"God," I said, knowing He was there but unable to access peace or comfort or joy, "I'm so sad." And though I made it home without crying, greeting Chienne and Sprout before moving upstairs to remove my pretty dress and tug on pajamas, I rested on the bed for mere seconds before tears started to fall.

It's very odd, I decided as I continued to cry while moving downstairs to fetch my anti-depressant. When I meet people with loved ones who live with mood disorders (and there are a lot of us. Did you know depression is projected to be the world's leading cause of disability by 2020? True story.), I try to explain what it's like. How it feels when I'm sick. What it takes to get better. How absolutely frustrating it is to not do anything for days and to feel so miserably guilty about it. How the pain is so huge that it surrounds me, smothering any efforts to escape and wanting only for time to pass. For the misery to ease, if only for a few moments so I can catch my breath.

The saving grace during each of these episodes is that I know I'll get better. There are triggers that still catch me - minuscule problems that spiral outward until the twinge of discomfort morphs into an encompassing cloud of depression. I don't know the trick to prevent the fall into a deeper state of despair. Even when I identify it early. Despite the fact that I continue to get up and go to work, operating at whatever levels of productivity I can achieve. When I force myself to interact with people - taking and making phone calls, attending meetings, engaging in conversations I can't avoid even when it's excruciating. Even in moments where the misery does ease - where I laugh or relax or lose myself in work. I still end up slipping ever downward until I reach bottom.

All I can tell you now is that the fall is awful. Feeling bad and realizing it's getting worse. Bracing for impact, dreading it even as I hope it comes soon so the trend can reverse. Maybe tomorrow. Please, God, tomorrow.