City of London, South Bank

I'm realizing how very isolated I was on my last trip to England. Midway through my graduate studies and painfully shy (though I didn't fully realize it at the time), I was extremely careful not to get in the way or ask for help, muddling through the streets of London instead, growing lost and remaining hungry as the idea of eating alone was too horrifying to consider.

I carried my free map of London in my bag yesterday, pulling it out to show to one of our customers as we discussed the best route to accomplish my list of must-sees.

"The City of London was my biggest regret," I told her seriously. "My camera was out of film, night was falling and I felt my tour bus just swooped through without giving me a chance to absorb any of it. And it seemed so impressive." So I had chosen a hotel on Gracechurch and knew I wanted to get to the Tower of London and associated bridge, wander along the river and stare at St. Paul's. We had a suitable route pretty defined and I carefully memorized it while hoping I wouldn't become terribly lost.

"I should be OK," I told Jenny last night, "if I stay near the river. Then I can keep my bearings without getting distracted and turning too many times to remember which direction I'm going." She edited my plan a bit and I remembered the assorted advice as I stared at the map this morning while getting ready. Deciding I would take lip gloss but would not bring a bottle of water, I put my little wallet around one wrist and camera around the other and set off in my jacket and wedge heels with socks underneath. (I could not fit walking shoes in my suitcase.) While certainly not chic, I decided I was ready.

I assessed my condition as I moved toward the Tower, several discrete but helpful signs assuring me I was directionally correct. Shoes were comfortable. Jacket seemed warm enough. I was a little hungry but had decided a stop for breakfast along the way was in the plan. I followed sparsely scattered tourists and snapped photos at the nearly deserted Tower campus. It shivered with a mixture of intimidation and happiness as I stood outside the walls in the gray morning. Finished, I climbed the stairs and crossed the river on Tower Bridge, thinking it incredibly lovely as I wandered slowly, pausing to stare at some detail or look out over the river.

Too fast, I lamented, watching a bus go by with tourists swiveling heads and craning necks to take in the bridge and view in a matter of seconds. Even the walk seemed to be taking me by sites more quickly than I wanted and I was torn between slowing down to enjoy or keeping pace to stay warm. But before I knew it, I'd passed Potters Field and the Tate Modern, had followed the Thames West Diversion and was growing very hungry and uncomfortable from the cold. I wanted, I thought crossly, a Kleenex, something hot to drink and to cross the river again.

Luckily, I happened across Blackfriars Bridge and trudged across it, realizing I was growing miserable. I should have stopped and rested, had something to eat, regrouped before I reached that point. But I pressed on, growing ever grumpier, and reminded myself that it was nice not to fight crowds. That I actually enjoy cloudy weather. That I was in London and having a fabulous time and should find something to enjoy about it already.

I walked up a hill, thinking I might do something drastic if that building I could see wasn't St. Paul's. It was, and my dangerous mood dissipated as my breath caught, seeing the dome up close. I tilted my head back in a blend of wanting to see more and needing to show some sort of awe at the structure. I walked across a narrow street to a cafe and thought it couldn't have been more perfect had God plopped it there just for me. I found a table at the window where I could gaze at the cathedral, ordered a bagette, hot chocolate and apple juice for a mere 5 pounds (I would have given him 50) and settled in to warm up, sip drinks and nibble on what had to have been the most perfect bread ever baked.

People went by on more tour buses, arms stretched over heads bundled in hoods and hats and scarves to get photos of the dome. The lumbering vehicles would pause for a moment and take off again, leaving me feeling rather wonderful as I lingered over my chocolate and spread butter on the last of my bread. Consulting my map once more, I paid my waiter - pleased to be getting rid of some of these heavy coins - and set off again. Had it not been cold, I would have settled on a wooden bench and said some prayers. Instead, I recited a few as I continued to walk, pausing to make some requests and offering a bit of thanks.

As I moved ever closer to my hotel, I thought my initial visit was more a survey - riding the bus and learning what I liked and where I needed to spend more time. Though I'd been criticized by colleagues for my choice of locations this time, I was utterly pleased with myself. The morning was even better than I hoped, affording me the luxury of stopping to take pictures along sidewalks that might otherwise have been crowded, looking at stunning buildings and feeling rather proud that I'd executed on my plan so effectively.

In a predictable Katie-like move though, I'm back at the hotel to write things down and take a nap.

Friday Plans & Famous Bloggers

I nearly canceled.

Having finished work far later than I planned, I seriously considered my evening plans as my host for the day tucked me inside a taxi after kissing my cheek.

"Piccadilly Street, please," I requested, sighing as I sat back in the seat and felt my tummy twist with nerves. "I'm not to be there until 7," I mentioned, wondering if the plexiglass between us would allow him to hear. When he looked at his watch, I decided he had and smiled when he politely informed me it wouldn't take an hour to get there. "No," I agreed. "I'll find someplace to wait."

Having watched out the window, I had identified suitable places and only had to walk a block through the misty rain before I could buy a soda and settle into a cushioned seat to deal with email and action items. I tackled my notes from today first, wincing when I recalled being shouted at twice. We struggled, honestly, and what was meant to be a 2 hour review turned into a 7 hour exercise in misery.

Glancing around occasionally, I lost myself in email while I sipped Diet Coke. After I finished the most urgent of messages, I tried to relax. I smiled at the girl in the corner, gesturing wildly as she complained that her colleague was just horrible and wouldn't work hard enough and clearly didn't understand! Her companion, a man a bit older than her early twenty-ish years, nodded but said little during her tirade, mostly avoiding eye contact.

The energy of youth, I decided, feeling a bit staid and settled in my early-thirty-ish age. I noticed a woman on the far wall was reapplying make-up, looking carefully in her tiny hand mirror as she brushed color on her eyelids and pursed her lips to apply gloss. Waiting people greeted those who arrived, exchanging handshakes or hugs as they settled into chairs and conversation with enviable ease.

Making a face, I realized it was time to close my laptop, escaping the safety of work in order to walk the block to my dinner destination. Some silly social impulse made me invite Richard for a drink and while he at first turned me down (something about being busy), he invited me for a meal after we finished work on Friday. Given that Jenny was joining us, I couldn't bring myself to opt out despite being nervous. They are, after all, the only two writers I know in London. I'm pretty sure that makes them famous and equally certain Americans like famous people. So I forced myself up the two steps and through the door, mustering my courage to greet the pair of them even while I wondered what I was doing.

As I expected, there was a blind-date-like awkwardness at the beginning. Having done more blind dating that I'd care to admit, I know the odd feeling of trying to rush through the natural discomfort some of us (aka me) feel when meeting new people. It actually helped when Jenny said something about it being like an interview as she and Richard sat across from me at the table. I'm good at interviews, I thought, and prepared to dazzle them. I even ordered water so I could stay sharp, give the correct answers to questions and try my best to be charming and funny.

When we ordered meals and a second round of drinks, I decided I was doing well enough to have a glass of wine. As I calmed down, I found her to be even better than I expected. Equally eloquent and bright as I imagined, but somehow with more warmth. I thought I'd like her - knew I'd be impressed with both of them - but I was a little surprised that I wanted to urge everyone to buy her book and read her blog and maybe even send her presents.

Richard was trickier. I knew him a bit better and though I sternly advised against it, would have been a bit hurt had he been obviously unimpressed. But much like my dinner with Sciencewoman (we all agreed she was missed), there were moments of easy familiarity when he laughed at something I'd said to elicit such a reaction paired with a disconcerting sense that I knew pieces of someone who was sometimes far different than I expected. Still, as reality reconciles with a mental image, it became easier to talk and laugh.

I still hesitated when deciding whether we should go to a "proper pub." It seems that means somewhere darker and louder (I did go - that's how I know that). After all, why ace the interview if you don't want the job? So we chatted a little longer while I had one more glass of wine before watching them both hail a cab while I waited patiently on the curb.

It's an odd and lovely thing, I decided sleepily as the cab wound through the streets of London to deposit me at my hotel. The internet - the blogging communities - make the world seem small. I can know intimate details of people who live far-flung or unknown places and although I'm aware that there's so much more behind that, it's still somehow amazing when confronted with it. To find unexpected commonalities (Jenny and I are both nervous flyers) and differences (Richard seems to adore living in London - I think it's fabulous to visit but there's always a piece of me missing the space and quiet of my anything-but-city home.)

"Did you take any photos today?" he asked at some point, and I shook my head sadly. I will do tomorrow though - it's a sightseeing day and I'm very excited about it. I did, however, remember the often buried under corporate business impulse to pull out my laptop and type out impressions so I wouldn't forget something I wanted to remember.

Ausfahrt

Germany was pretty much freaking me out last night. The plane landed in the last hours of Tuesday in a mostly-empty airport. I wasn't sure if the taxi driver knew where we were going but was sure he was going really fast in the nearly-no-visibility mist. Ausfahrt, printed on a sign, made me giggle (and if you don't know why, I'm not telling you - it'll only make me look bad). He dropped me off and nodded encouragingly when I looked dubiously at the small, unlit hallway so I waved, squared my shoulders and tugged my suitcase behind me over the brick path.

I blinked at the man who spoke a whole lot of words I didn't understand when I finally arrived at a reception desk. "Right," I finally said when he looked at me expantantly. "Hi. I'm Katie." And though that shouldn't have helped him at all, he handed the key card with my name scrawled on the holder and pointed me toward the actual entrance to the hotel (he had to explain twice - I didn't get why it was separate from the reception area) and bid me good night.

Unsure if it was the coffee I had at 3PM (or 12+3=15:00) in London or the stress of the I-suck-for-not-speaking-German trip, I realized I was wide awake. I took a shower and washed my hair. I put on lotion I'd taken from The Trafalgar Hotel, longing for it when I looked around my current room that, while nice, wasn't nearly as lovely. I tossed and turned, turned and tossed and can remember looking at the clock after 2:00. So when the trash collectors woke me up at 7, I was pretty much ready to write Munich off. When they continued to talk and make noise outside my first floor room, I was tired and cranky and terribly disappointed when I opened my eyes and wasn't in London (even though I wished that as hard as I could).

There was no means of making coffee in the room and the only television I could understand was CNN so I learned about Haiti and felt miserably guilty about being miserable in my charmed life. So I resolved to buck up and get dressed and wandered down to find coffee.

When a woman greeted me with a happy string of German words, I said good morning and asked if I could sit anywhere.

"Of course, madam," she said immediately and I decided that madam was much nicer than ma'am. Feeling a bit more hopeful when she set coffee before me, I sipped before going to fetch some breakfast. Visions of plump sausages and fluffy eggs dashed, I nonetheless enjoyed the bread and antipasto while greedily gulping coffee.

"You're American," a woman said with a hint of Boston in her voice and I smiled up at her from my seat. "Can I sit?" As she was already moving my coat aside and had settled her own coffee on the table, I nodded, deciding I rather liked her. So we chatted and she told me about her family while I finished my coffee and wished her luck on her shopping trip.

Feeling better once fed and caffeinated and having made a new friend, I smiled at my escort for today when he arrived and we set off to work. When we finished, early as expected, I dashed his plans at escaping babysitting duty and told him to take me downtown.

"I need to take pictures and look at pretty buildings," I insisted, though he'd instantly and manfully nodded in response to my demand. So I followed my colleague's example and bought a subway ticket and we chatted on the short trip. When we made our way back above ground, I caught my breath at the town hall and beamed at him.

"Perfect," I breathed, reaching in my jacket pocket where my camera waited. And throughout our walk, I chattered and snapped photos and asked him what signs said. I smiled and forgot that my feet hurt and my nose was cold and I was rather exhausted. "I'm so happy," I told him, patting his arm affectionately as we rode the train back to the rented car.

I have remembered only that one word that made me laugh so I decided to look it up once I got back to the hotel. It seems to mean an off-ramp or exit. Having through it was an actual place - some city or town - I smiled at the idea that it was a concept and wondered at the coincidence that I'd noticed it when I rather wanted to exit - in general - myself. So though I don't think Germany is going to be my favorite of the stops on this journey, I'm very glad I came.

Hugs & Kisses

I frankly adore London, needing only to look around to become nearly giddy with inexplicable delight. Given that today was spent playing to my strengths – discussing research projects and potential value and topics that I’d spent my academic career considering – I felt rather lovely. I have a bit of a crush on the head of the lab, made only worse with contact in person and leaving me near a swoon when he kissed both my cheeks before I took my leave.

I found all of them fascinating and lovely, giggling at stories, enjoying Chinese around a too-small table for lunch and chatting about complex topics and long-term dreams.

I sighed, happily enamored, as I settled myself in the backseat of the private car which would, courtesy of my colleagues, transport me to Heathrow. Like the cab ride in the morning, I sheepishly dug my camera from my bag to capture photos of the city, feeling hopelessly charmed and fascinated.

“Are we taking off shoes?” the man behind me asked as we inched forward in a painfully long line at security.

“I don’t know,” I replied, grinning at his American accent (which I’ll admit I first identified as a lack of an English one). “There doesn’t seem an obvious pattern.”

“I can’t figure it out either,” the man – this one younger – in front of me said, also clearly American in his speech. Even as I smiled politely at the man supervising the loading of bins, obediently settling my jacket over my laptop and moving through the metal detector, I thought that while I’m positively thrilled to be visiting, I’m no less happy with where I call home.

Germany is wonderful, I'm sure, but I haven't quite realized it yet. My hotel - the only one recommended by a colleague - hasn't the ambiance or charm or bathrobe and slippers of my previous temporary residences. I had a moment of panic on the plane at the first German I heard spoken, taking inappropriately and oddly back to filmstrips in school of WWII. But I've made it safely. If I didn't sleep well and face my Wednesday exhausted and a bit grumpy, I'm sure I'll see something pretty and be happy again soon enough.

Thirty-one

I have arrived in London. There are two wardrobe - one, apparently, for tops and the other for pants. I dutifully hung my shirt and jacket for tomorrow in one and pants in the other.

I scurried across my lovely room a moment later, scooping up the two hangers and hung them in front of the pants, feeling better that the latter clothing wouldn't be lonely this way.

The first day I can claim 31 years was, for the most part, lovely. I was busy and felt productive. I learned a lot, some of which might help people. And all went right according to schedule, calming my frazzled nerves when I made my train to St. Pancras Station.

I slept, peaceful and deep, after having chicken tikka masala and many bottles of (still) water. When my iPod played Trip on Love, I first incorporated it into my dream but blinked my eyes open to see the hotel-supplied alarm clock, turned it off and closed them again.

Two hours later, I dumped water from the kettle on instant coffee and sipped gratefully. My brain, sulking for a moment that it was really 2AM, started to work and I got ready for my day. I trudged up the hills behind my host, scowling at his back when I had to wave aside another apology that we didn't take a taxi.

I snuck away to the toilet to cry once - medical procedures, regardless of how altruistic, with children break my heart. But I gulped back my tears, refreshed my make-up and went back in to the room and smile at the young mother, thinking I was older than she even before I turned 31, and told her newborn was beautiful.

I wrote pages of notes I was unable to transcribe because my Brookstone adapter smells alarmingly of burning electronics when I plug anything into it. I sheepishly borrowed an adapter from my current hotel, currently thinking said choice was very worthwhile. I read Practically Perfect on the train, finding it lovely even while I wished it was light out so I could coo at the scenery. I took a cab to my hotel downtown, checking in and sniffing absently at the soap. Last night, the plane was lavender; yesterday's hotel ginsing; tonight's lemon.

In the rare moments when I'm tired or nervous or out of sorts, I look around and think "I'm here!" and am happy.

"You should have done something special for your birthday," one of my customers said today.

"Oh, I am," I assured him. "I'm in England."

Practically Perfect

My lips curved as we left Manchester and headed what I’m fairly sure was west. The soot that sullenly stains the pretty red brick of so many buildings in town leaves me feeling a bit sad. It’s as if the price paid for industrialization – and progress, in general, really – has been painted across the otherwise pretty architecture.

Deciding it likely had a charm all its own and I was simply too tired to properly appreciate it, I was nonetheless grateful when the train sped through more picturesque scenes – fences on hillsides and stone buildings in the valleys. As I turned sideways in my seat, muscles protesting any position that wasn’t completely supine, I squinted in fierce concentration as I tried to decide whether the pretty boundaries seemingly placed at random were made of stone or wood. I grinned, ducking my head when I caught my reflection, when I saw sheep dotting the landscape and sighed, shifting in my seat and trying to soothe myself with the thought that I was nearly done with the hardest part of the travel on this trip.

Out of America

The drive to my parents’ had been smooth and uneventful. The short trip to their local airport was less so, Little One asking constant questions and Smallest One being quite vocal about her opinion that Aunt Katie was Not to Leave. They were both in tears by the time I tugged my heavy suitcase out of the back of the van and I checked in with aching heart and throat tight with sadness. I could not, I decided, as I cleared security and reassembled myself and my belongings, do this job if I had children.

The flight to O’Hare was late, leaving me rather twitchy with the worry that I’d not be able to get my international power adapters or local currency. It turned out I did both, with a lavender neck pillow and bottle of water as a bonus, and I boarded the flight and blessed American Airlines when most of the middle seats were left empty. I don’t do well on lengthy flights, though the one to Manchester was less than 7 hours, but feel the shifting and groaning and readjustment of my body into less torturous positions after hour 5 is aided when I don’t have an immediate neighbor. So, lavender wafting from my shoulders courtesy of my new pillow, I read and nibbled the food they brought, watched movies while trying desperately and futilely to sleep and waited until we landed.

British Boys

I expected it to feel more different than it did, which seemed silly even as I moved briskly through the airport corridors toward passport control. I got to talk to the cute boy agent, reminding myself sternly to be unflappable and instead chattering like a chipmunk when I was charmed by his accent. Regardless, he let me in the country so, after asking directions to the train station and hoping I didn’t slip on rain-slicked sidewalks, I managed to print my prepurchased tickets and found the bus that replaced the construction-ridden train to Piccadilly. It took me a mere 4 minutes (I timed it) to frown at the mass of humanity waiting for said bus, all of us laden with luggage and looking rumpled and worse for wear after flights, before I gripped my suitcase once again and headed off to find a taxi.

I felt my shoulders slump at the prospect of carrying all my things back up the steps since the blasted escalator was broken, but squared my shoulders, set my mouth and bent to grab my suitcase. A man paused, having just lifted his suitcase and grinned at my expression before reaching for the larger of my two pieces.

“Oh,” I said, startled and more confused than I ought to have been, “you don’t have to…” Smiling at his “No trouble at all,” I scampered up the steps behind him and smiled my thanks, wanting to hug him when he bowed his head in return. Newly pleased with the country in general but wondering with some horror if I was starting to smell, I went out into the damp, cool morning and waved at a waiting driver.

“I’d like to go to Piccadilly Station,” I told him simply and waited for instructions.

“Would you like me to take you there?” he asked, already opening his door and coming round the odd car with the huge area between back seat and front and placing my luggage in before offering his hand to help me. I must have looked wobbly, I decided, making the modest step into the car and settling in. He chattered about how smart I was to take a cab rather than wait for the bus, discussing how I could get tea (or coffee, he allowed) and pastries before it was time for my train to depart. I waved and nodded when he made sure I understood his directions to the platforms, managing yet another flight of stairs (I’m afraid the country is in dire need of escalator reform) and going to find more water.

I remembered being there, in the bookshop, on my last trip to England so I smiled and went to find something to read. When nothing appealed, I selected a book by a Katie whose last name escapes me. Realizing with some dismay that she had several titles available, I debated mere moments before reaching for Practically Perfect, deciding the name fit the first day of my European adventure.

Oh, the hotel

Of all the places I’ve booked – in the center of London, on the island in Paris – I’ve anticipated this one the most. And it was lovely – at once charmingly friendly and elegantly attired. They sent me off upon arrival as they continued to deal with guests checking out before the 11AM deadline, but I returned not an hour later.

“I’m sorry,” I told the young man behind the glossy counter. “I’m exhausted and I can’t bear whiling away hours right now. It just hurts to think. So if I could get my smaller bag back, I’ll just sit over there in the corner and read. Until 1,” I concluded, though the thought nearly made me whimper. He settled me with some juice when I declined tea and coffee and I hadn’t even managed to figure out the wireless internet when he returned to say he’d found a vacant space I could have if I’d like to check in now.

I think I called him an angel – I’m certain I thought it – and followed him dutifully onto the lift and through the corridors (see what I did there? I’m using their words!) and into a positively wonderful corner room. Too thrilled to be much more than mildly confused when I couldn’t get the lights to turn on, I shrugged and showered in the diffuse light coming through the sheer curtains covering the tall windows in the bedroom. Blessedly clean, I battled to gain access to the internet before slipping out of the hotel robe and between soft, white sheets and falling deeply asleep.

I opened my eyes a couple of times to peer at the clock, stretch in the unexpected sunshine streaming through one window, and scold myself for screwing up my jet lag plan. Unfazed, I snuggled back into the perfect mattress and luxurious bedding and rested some more.

When I finally awakened – after an – I’m sure – ill-advised 3 hour nap, I called the desk to ask how to get online. Given the magical code, I sent a quick note home and took out the outfit I’ll wear tomorrow before shoving items back in my suitcase. I scampered to answer the knock at the door a few minutes later, happily accepting the cupcakes I ordered to celebrate my birthday tomorrow, and deciding to ask about the lights.

“I wondered what that was for,” I told her, when she placed my room key in the white slot just inside the door and every light bulb in the room immediately illuminated. I blinked at her, shrugging bashfully and thanked her. (Tricky British with your games and rules to turn on a lamp.)

Work begins in a mere 2 hours with dinner before the full day tomorrow. But I’m happy. I’m here. And so it begins.

Conflicting punctuation

Ready!
I depart tomorrow afternoon for my trans-Atlantic flight and have been declining meetings and reminding people at every given opportunity that I'll be in Europe next week. And it sounds impossibly lovely each time. I'm spending time in London. Ending my trip in Paris. And when people say, "Oh, you're not going for fun?" I raise my eyebrows and remark that it's Europe and I'm profoundly grateful to be going for work. I don't have the $5,000 USD this is going to cost, frankly, and am not terribly good at taking vacations anyway.

So I've carefully written out my schedules. I've confirmed meetings with all the collaborators I'm eager to visit. I just re-packed for the third time, matching tops to bottoms to jackets to shoes and trying hard to pare down the load so I could carry on my suitcase and exquisitely-organized laptop bag. I'm so lucky and happy and excited about this!

Ready?
I also happen to be sick with nerves and wishing rather desperately this was over already. Will I have trouble at customs or get caught in some embarrassing search scenario at security? Have I forgotten something about international travel that will trip me up. Will the Germans and French be kind enough to forgive me speaking barely a word of their respective languages? How Will I cope with the time difference? Will I be exhausted and cranky throughout this wonderful opportunity? My cold lingers - will my ears ache through the lengthy and numerous flights? What should I wear on the plane for maximum comfort? Will I be able to get adequate pounds and Euros at my connecting airport tomorrow?

Ready.
I begin my drive home first thing tomorrow. I arrive in England Sunday morning and will post pictures at first opporunity. My plan - since I hardly flit off to Europe often (though the plan is to go once a year) - is to write and take photos and pick up small bits of prettiness that I can tuck away at home or give to people when I tell them about my time abroad.

Beauracratic Bullshit

"Is there anything you don't like?" I asked one of our newer scientists. My position in R&D allows me contact with the team and I like to keep track of how they're doing. He replied that he was quiet happy and I nudged a bit on the independence question since much of the direction toward time allocation does come from my team in headquarters.

I like my job. I don't mind having priorities delivered from on high (to some extent). I do what I'm told and balance that with what I feel is important. And it generally works.

Except I'm sometimes a sucker. And when a poor, lost engineer comes to my door with pleas for help, I'll typically shrug and pitch in. So when I heard there was an urgent need to test a new piece of hardware, I nodded and said I'd support it. I joined three different meetings. I wrote out some tests that should be completed and added in the appropriate spots to initial and fill in some blanks.

Problem solved, yes? We have a change. We need to (1) test the change and (2) document the results. Check and check.

Except this turned into a system of two different teams refusing to sign off on the set of documents that were created from an approved fucking template. And you look at them when they talk and they shrug and say they've not done it this way before and wouldn't I rather use this other template? Or write this other justification? Or do it this way and that way and maybe the other way as well?

They blink at me when I glare my meanest glare and say "I don't care," in a hiss. "Just make up your mind! You've turned this into some horror show of ridiculous paperwork that does nobody any good! Just tell me what it takes to make you sign and I'll do it."

But they pushed my past my limit when - after saying they'd all sign - someone decided to change the approach again. So I thought, when I left work in a huff after snapping at more people, that I despise this part of my job and can't imagine ever being very good at it.

No Day

"She's having a no day," Little One giggles whenever Smallest One is in a contradictory mood, responding with the short, negative reply to any and all questions. I told my parents I was taking one yesterday - no phone calls, no emails, no talking to anything that wasn't a dog. I was going to sleep and read and wallow in the messiness of my house.

It went well. I slept, read 3 books, showered, plucked my eyebrows and finished a single work thing that happened to be due yesterday. I wrote a blog post and basically enjoyed my freedom for the duration.

This morning, I got out of bed after sleeping poorly. I have this one spot on my left shoulder blade that twinges and aches. I do not know how I acquired this soreness but it's annoying and persistent. Still, I gathered up a week's worth of laundry and headed downstairs to start the washer. I read while the clothes tumbled through soapy water then hot air, folding them neatly to avoid wrinkles. That finished, I decided to tackle the snow I'd stubbornly ignored yesterday, dutifully following my snowblower as we swept up and down the driveway and sidewalks.

I encountered a very sad canine upon completion and grinned at her before clipping her leash on and setting off to follow her down the street to the park. As I stumbled and scrambled over ice and snow, I realized yesterday worked. I feel clearer, more tolerant, less scattered and unsettled. So I sent email and scheduled meetings, planned out my last week before leaving for Europe and realized the sick dread that held my attention last week has largely dissipated. Having accomplished all urgent items before 9AM, I decided to have one more day - a Not Really Day rather than a pure No Day - to rest and settle before heading back to battle tomorrow.

Frankly, my dears...

"I have one," a woman said from two chairs down. I peered around my neighbors at the large table and arched my eyebrow inquisitively. "I admire Katie's honesty. She's the one who says what everyone is thinking - who confronts problems and doesn't waste time on dancing around issues." I grinned even as people nodded, recognizing that people probably did like that about me. It allows them to reap the benefits while retaining their polite manners.

Being wildly impatient and more than a little passionate, I tend to take a very direct approach to getting what I want. It is frustrating to me, therefore, that I get so offended when people figure me out so quickly. I think I have this image in my mind of who I'd like to be - elegant and refined, composed and steady. Yet I pull my hair into ponytails when I'm concentrating - meaning it's rarely down. I think a lot and say what I've decided. Then I argue over it as if it's the end of the world.

When I'm hurt, I'm vicious. I laugh too loud when I think something is funny. I blushed when I met a colleague who works remotely. I stood politely and he said something about it being jarring when a mental image doesn't align with reality. I laughed, thinking he was far shorter than I'd pictured him and he grinned immediately and widely. "I would have known you earlier had you laughed," he said. "It's my favorite part of phone calls you're on."

"Stop," Adam said softly when I was mid-conversation. Over the last 18 months, I've learned to trust him so I ceased speaking mid-sentence and scrambled to exit the conversation. I made my way to where my boss waited and we walked as he said I should relax. I'm open about knowing his new boss isn't all that impressed with me, finding it both disconcerting and hurtful. "First," Adam said, not unkindly, "you're overreacting - it's not that bad. Second, I don't want you singled out as a problem when you're anything but. So lay low, stay quiet and keep your head down." He raised his hand when I opened my mouth. "Just for a little while, Katie. I know it's hard for you. I need you to try."

Having given myself a firm pep talk yesterday morning before entering what promised to be a tense meeting with Adam, his new boss and several other players, I was relieved when our new leader didn't attend. I muted the line in Adam's office and bounced happily in my seat when he said I didn't have to be restrained. "This is stupid," I remarked immediately after unmuting the call. "We decided on this months ago and we still can't make progress! This is asinine." When Adam said we should revisit one of the first steps in a sequence of decisions, I stood up to shout at him. "No going backwards!" I exclaimed, hands on hips and glaring with all I was worth. "We made that decision - and several more afterward - and we are pushing through this final step - not backtracking to waste more meetings on this." Not twenty minutes later, having ranted and threatened until I was nearly exhausted, I had what I wanted.

I rather like throwing tantrums - it's consuming and exciting and what the hell else do I have? But they do wear me out. So I went to the cafeteria to get a candy bar.

"Hey," I greeted some colleagues as they sat at a table near the window. Sighing when seeing evidence of tears from one, I pulled out a chair, glanced at the clock and joined them. I was quiet while they talked, wanting desperately to advise that the wounded party confront and argue and explain. But she was so sad about the event and clearly afraid of what would come of such a conversation that I couldn't make myself do it. Instead, I reached out and patted her hand, curling my fingers around hers when she gripped my palm.

"You're like this," she said, nudging my Snickers with our joined hands.

"Nutty?" I asked, smiling at her.

"Sweet," she corrected and I squeezed her hand. On my way back to my office, I decided that being open to impatience and anger kept me emotionally available for sympathy and affection. And I value that.

"You're quiet," another colleague commented during a break of another lengthy meeting. I nodded and he grinned when I purposely didn't speak for a moment.

"I'm trying out a more gentle approach. Listen. Consider. Think."

"You do that," he said, looking confused. "And then you Speak. I'm missing the Speak." I nodded before thanking him but left the meeting confused about how I want to interact with people. Knowing there's a time and place, I was fine being known for being forthright and emotional about the work. It's sincere and comfortable and I hate to deviate from what has worked.

So what's best? When you think of people who tend toward being open - both professionally and personally - what would you advise?

Pink with Polka Dots

I should have known I was going to have an episode. When I pulled into the parking lot, I shuddered at the swarm of people around me. Everyone driving in and finding a parking spot, hurrying through the cold toward the lobby and to their desks. I spent a moment bundled in my Jeep, watching them through the windshield with a feeling of dread.

It all seemed too loud, tempting me to close my door though I steeled myself and left it ajar. I didn't grow worried until email failed to distract me. Instead of getting lost in the work - in the ebb and flow of questions and answers, projects and approvals - it grated at my attention, leaving me feeling scattered and vulnerable.

It was therefore no surprise that a new boss's boss stuck me as nearly unbearable. Coping with major changes in atmosphere and operating mechanisms was horrifying - I couldn't make my brain accept it with any grace and visibly struggled against it. Despite numerous pep talks, I've been defensive and overly sensitive to any suggestions. And the hammering of discussions and complaints, heavy email traffic and constantly ringing phones is making it hard to breathe.

I took a walk yesterday morning, clipping the leash to Chienne and making our way outside in the snow. Realizing I left my boots at work - I'm regularly forgetting details of late - I wore little canvas shoes as I pranced through the snow. I smiled at them as we walked, their bright pink color and happy white dotted pattern seeming ridiculous and wonderful against the slushy snow and ice that coated the sidewalks.

Realizing I'm spending a good deal of time with my head bowed when I get overwhelmed, I wore them to work, pairing them with a pink sweater in a halfhearted attempt at being businesslike. I hoped I would glance down and smile at the silliness. It backfired, feeling like I was attempting to draw attention rather than being nearly desperate to avoid it. Unable to go barefoot, I made my way through meetings with shifting times and problems of high urgency.

At noon, after another criticism-laden meeting with my new leader and two more phone calls that created massive amounts of overhead, I trembled and rested my head on my arms for a moment. Breathing deeply, I tried to settle - to decide what to tackle first, how to reschedule certain meetings, a method of coping. Instead, I canceled everything and came home around noon.

I kept my eyes on my shoes as I hurried through the building, hoping I'd not see anyone during my escape. I did, of course, and several of them stopped me to talk, making my nerves crackle with pain. Once outside, I barely checked the need to run but jogged the last few steps to my car before hurling myself inside and driving away. I came home and read a book. Slept. Opened my laptop to deal with the urgent issues in a place where I felt more calm and safe.

As for today, there is a Major Meeting and I'll struggle into a suit and sensible black shoes and make my way off campus to our designated location. I will be calm and friendly. I will try - very, very hard - not to take suggestions as personal attacks. But I can't figure it out - my perception is so very skewed right now that, even recognizing I'm not right, I can't figure out what's real and problematic and what's in my head and fleeting. Given that I'm making myself ill with nerves as I postpone getting dressed for my day, I suppose it's time to stop thinking of reasonable excuses and ready myself for work.

Fun Facts

I have finished mapping out the Europe trip. It will go plane-plane-train-train-[free afternoon]-[work]-train-[work]-plane-[work]-[work]-plane-[TBD]-[free]-plane-[free]-[work]-plane-plane-plane. That's a lot of transportation.

***

"I'll be there on the 18th," I reported to some colleagues. "That happens to be the day I turn 31!"

"You're 31?" one of them asked, blinking at me.

"No," I replied, blinking at him in return. "I'm 30. I turn 31 in a couple weeks." I smiled and patted his shoulder when he settled his forehead against the desk and lamented that he barely remembered being 30.

"To be young, brilliant and attractive," he sighed at me and I loved him a little for it.

***

Adam has a new boss. Said boss - while fantastic, I'm sure - makes me defensive and sensitive and very upset. I'm trying not to visibly bristle when he criticizes me. I know I work for him and must do as he says and gracefully accept his suggestions. But I'm not used to anyone questioning me. I hate feeling like I'm not good at the job I feel I've learned pretty well. So this is an unexpectedly difficult time.

***

It helps that I have redecorated my bedroom. I read an article on decluttering and making the master suite feel peaceful. So I rearranged furniture, put a bunch of stuff away and decided to move all my black and white prints to this room. I also tore down the blinds that clad my sliding doors and replaced them with cream crushed satin drapes framing taupe sheers. It looks like my window is wearing a fancy nightie. Between the lovely atmosphere and new flannel bedding in the cold, winter nights, I'm sleeping very well.

***

My precious project at work is getting less respect than it deserves. Which isn't that big a deal, but - on top of leadership shifts that affect me - makes me very sad. So I'm reminding myself that change - while unnerving - can be very positive. I'm carefully taking my pill each night and forcing myself to commute to the office each morning. And I know it will get better soon.

New Year

Scattered lights were illuminated, leaving the building dim when I arrived. I moved softly, hesitant to disturb the rare, peaceful atmosphere that lingered in the office as keyboards lay quiet and most everything - save me - operated in sleep mode.

I was happy, I realized, taking a moment to smile over it even as I moved to my office to collect my power cord, bits of data storage and notes. I removed a cart from a storage closet on my way by, tossing my items on the lower shelf and navigating the maze of hallways as I collected equipment on my way to the labs. Swiping my card, I gained entry into central space and remembered that I'd reserved the most coveted of labs to begin my work.

Leaving my cart and tucking my card in the pocket of my jeans, I moved to collect more material. I dutifully recorded my name in the logbooks for the expensive devices, carting them with me even as I wrinkled my nose at the safety glasses I was to wear. Glancing left and right down the long hallway, labs still and locked on either side, I shrugged and decided against protective gear. Holidays, I decided, peering into the delightfully empty rooms I all too rarely have the opportunity to inhabit, have their uses.

Nary an email arrived as I carefully consulted my notes and set up the experiments, arranging equipment to my satisfaction before beginning to program the computer that waited at the large, marble counter. I wriggled into the comfortable chair, considering and discarding the desire to steal it for my office, and was pleased no customers or colleagues were there to disturb my project. There were no comments on my choice of attire, for the replacement of pants and sweaters with jeans and the t-shirt I slept in were even more uncommon than the sneakers that currently adorned feet normally clad in something prettier.

Once settled, I opened the spreadsheet I'd been populating over FW52 and began to acquire data. And it was lovely. I nearly wrote 'inexplicably lovely' but my sense is that far more people than I have felt that shiver of happy productivity when executing an experiment well designed, paper neatly outlined or other job much loved. There was little more to do than push buttons and record measurements for the next 2 hours so I aligned a tube of lip gloss with an uncapped water bottle and my opened laptop and grinned, utterly pleased with myself, my job and the world.

Some 5 hours later, I checked the time in the third lab I'd visited that day, loving that I could move from space to space at will but beginning to despise the virus causing my severe congestion and headache. Shrugging when I realized it'd been merely 2.5 hours rather than the prescribed 4, I took two more tablets and wished very hard for relief. Most other labs, while often busy, were not as luxurious as my starting spot for the day. Sturdy tables replaced marble countertops and custom cabinetry. Machines roared and hummed next to the operator rather than being carefully tucked away so as not to disturb visitors to our labs. Glancing at Outlook, I decided mechanical noise was far better than email traffic and attempted to recover my earlier mood.

Looking at the hundreds of rows I'd entered into a spreadsheet, I tried to summon some feeling of accomplishment. I reminded myself that I'd not delegated this particular project for a reason. Questions around this topic have followed me since very early in my graduate career so when they resurfaced for the business, I eagerly volunteered to write test plans and review literature. When Adam noted that's not really what managers do here - it was more a science project than a customer-facing or product-driven activity - I pouted and cajoled and pointed out how much I do for the group until he, with rolled eyes, granted permission.

I recalled, sitting there yesterday afternoon, that the question that was asked at many interviews was pretty easily talked around simply because finding the answer involved a tremendous amount of work - a huge number of systems and exhaustive data collection. Very precise test plans and tedious acquisition steps. There was a ridiculous amount of variability that required a large number of carefully controlled steps. Given that, historically, my thinking doesn't get comprehensive until I'm actually looking at data, I wasn't willing to sacrifice some poor soul to days of acquiring data that I'd look at, say oops and send him back to get something different.

Guilt-free, I added acquisitions as they occurred to me, neatly updating my notes. I tried several different analyses to convince myself my sampling approach was reasonable. Queasy from multiple doses of cold relief tablets and no calories from the water I'd been drinking, I plodded back to the restrooms at the back of the labs and realized the soft thud of my sneakers on the tile floors sounded tired. My ponytail looked sad and straggly; comfy t-shirt stained from carrying equipment cradled in my arms and pressed to my tummy as I transported it. My sweatshirt, half unzipped when oncoming fever made me chilly, hung nearly off my right shoulder and, peering into the mirror, I realized I'm beginning to look a bit old without my normal moisturizer and make-up routine.

"You're lucky you don't have a family," Cousin said tiredly on Christmas. "With my new job, the hours are so long and the work so intense that I'm desperate to find the energy for home that I need." I nodded, thinking my sacrifices different. I dealt with the loneliness that ebbs and flows in exchange for a more modest guilt at neglecting loved ones. I had abandoned my parents at home in favor of the luxurious freedom of open labs at work on the January 1st holiday. It's all trade offs, I decided as I walked back to the lab and sat down to finish, wincing at the aches in my shoulders from slouching over computers all day. (I get physically closer to interesting information so my poor posture is, at times, due to leaning forward in fascination.)

Finishing the last of the first acquisitions, I checked my calendar for the times I'd reserved next week to do some re-tests. I closed my notes and unplugged my laptop. I made piles of what went back to my office and what came home before retracing my steps to sign equipment back in, replace items I'd borrowed and check that all spaces were secured. Finally, jacket zipped and bag on my shoulder, I walked from the building into the afternoon sunshine sparkling off drifts of snow.

The Dad Visiteth

After Little One slammed the door and was lectured for her behavior but before the sixth time Dad said “I wish I was going home with Katie,” I told Mom I’d take him. She needed a break – time to decompress and sit in silence rather than being subjected to a constant stream of information – helpful comments, mean remarks, random tidbits from television and commentary on what you’re doing right or wrong with the girls.

So when Mom started lecture Dad for how he lectured Little One, I raised my voice and asked him to pack a bag. “You can help me with my driveway and we’ll take down my Christmas decorations. And it’ll give everyone a little change of scenery for a few days.” He went down the hall immediately, busily tucking clothes and medicines into his suitcase and hunting for the toiletry bag they always bring.

Having already packed the Jeep, I took the last armful of gifts – 5 gorgeous suits Mom bought for when I need to be business rather than business casual – to the garage and rearranged some of my items to make room for my father. Then I held Smallest One on my lap and played the Dora video game I bought for her older sister while said sister played with Mom in the living room.

Smallest One held up her little arms when Dad was finally ready, lips formed into an insistent pout, and demanded to come ("I go!" she says and it almost hurts it's so cute.) with us as we prepared to depart. “Not this time,” I whispered, feeling miserably guilty and ready to scoop her up and find room for a car seat next to Chienne in the back. Dad waved from the passenger seat, buckling in and gearing up for several hours of driving tips.

We arrived home to shovel and blow snow from my driveway – I appreciated (and needed) the help. Mom plans to drive up to fetch him – and spend time with me – tomorrow or Thursday. I’m doing exactly what I’d otherwise planned. I went in early today and worked on large projects (the poor ones in the “important but not urgent” category that always get shoved back “a week”) while remaining mostly undisturbed. I left a bit early, having worked a measly 8 hours.

I returned from work this afternoon to find coat hooks on the wall and three of my four toilets scrubbed clean. “Thanks,” I chirped, not feeling the need to point out that I’d scurried around to clean and change bedding and make dinner the night before. Instead, I dug through the plethora of food Mom sent with us and called out a list of options before deciding on chicken and pasta, making a mental list of soup ingredients I should collect after work tomorrow.

It’s very easy here. Having been surrounded by family – the noise and happiness and intense love of children – I’m always a little relieved to return to my quiet little life. It’s now tempered with worry over Little and Smallest – I wonder if they’re happy or sad, worried or settled. I want to be more involved. But it’s so hard for me to control – there’s no work-like ease of people having to heed my suggestions or follow my carefully drafted schedule. It’s therefore troublesome to reconcile the love I have with a sense that I’m still not ready for children.

Luckily, I’m sleepy enough not to fret too much right now.

When Email Slows

There is a luxurious lack of incoming communication in the professional sense, allowing me to direct attention to long-neglected projects and documents. I sometimes think longingly of home - how I could sleep late and nap often, simmer soups and do some writing.

I am instead at my parents' cozy place in Illinois. It's been wonderfully quiet and amusingly chaotic by turn. I slept until 6:30 this morning, a very respectable hour, and crept down the hallway to peek in on Smallest One before continuing to the living room where Mom was slumped on a corner of the couch with Little One curled on her lap, staring at the lights of the tree.

Yet for many of the cuddles and giggles, there were unpleasant scoldings when the sisters argued or torturing small children with doses of antibiotics. I felt all warm and fuzzy with my parents on Christmas Eve - standing between them in a pew near the back as we recited the Lord's Prayer together and later sang Silent Night with lit candles held in our hands. Yet today I threw up my hands at both of them - Dad lecturing ad nauseum when Little One sassed him with an admittedly-rude "blah, blah, blah." Mom reacts with a stunning lack of consistency when it comes to issues with Brother. "I can't help you," I finally said, throwing up my hands, "because I don't know what you want!"

Chienne braved the weather - first massive amounts of rain and now an unexpected amount of snow - to potty outside, going so far as to run away while we sold and moved my childhood piano. But she blew it by peeing downstairs, leaving us to find the mess while we were attempting to install the gas fireplace. Sprout has been more predictable - when it's quiet and child-free, he's a frequent visitor. But when Little and Smallest Ones are here, he huddles in his basement, poking his stripey head around the corner only to race away from them.

I spent time with the puppies (!!!) who are a bit larger but equally adorable in Aunt and Uncle's garage. We kissed and cuddled after the debacle (which I'm unlikely to finish) and I calmed as the three dogs pressed against me and licked my chin. Cousin, et al., came out to see us - Little Cousin enjoys playing with Little One (a happy surprise) so they arranged another date at my parents' house yesterday. I sat with Cousin at the kitchen table, discussing how many hours we worked as we nibbled mints and monkey bread and watched Aunt sew together a plush rabbit.

"Mom?" I finally said, "Maybe we could buy animals that are pre-fabricated rather than these that we have to build ourselves?"

"I'm out of thread," she muttered, giving me a dark look. "I can't finish Smallest One's dog."

Cousin and I continued to talk - she saying I was actually lucky to not deal with the guilt of neglecting a husband and child while managing professional responsibilities; I saying I thought not having direct reports helped a good deal - while we were handed the animals and bags of stuffing from our respective moms.

"This is just wrong," she decided, continuing to shove the white filling through the hole between the rabbit's legs. Looking up from an identical project with a spotted dog, I nodded before taking a sip of water and jabbing stuffing into the arms.

"Grandma?" Smallest One asked this morning, and I felt proud that I was learning enough of her words and speech patterns to communicate reasonably effectively.

"She went outside, love," I replied. "To help Grandpa with the snow."

"I help!" she cried, going to fetch her winter wear and returning to me with tiny arms full.

"OK," I smiled and she bounced in front of me. "Let's find your boots."

"You help?" she asked curiously as I helped her in boots and sweatshirt, coat and gloves and hat.

"I think they're good," I answered. "Other arm in," I coaxed as she talked about how it was snowing and she'd help and could she go yet?

Their mother came for them this morning, resulting in another round of bundling up and hugs and kisses.

"Love you bye." Smallest One says - no pause between any words - before leaving. We repeat the sentiment and wave at the window before collapsing and wondering if we can find snacks and sleep before they return.

Part 1

I love the Ones very much. So it was with a sense of excitement that I woke early this morning, loaded the last of the gifts and my overnight bag in the Jeep, settled Chienne in the passenger seat with her blanket and set off through the miserable weather toward my parents' house. I called when I was about 10 minutes away so I arrived to an open garage, Dad waiting at the door and 3 faces at the window surrounded by waving hands.

Little One helped unload the toys, immediately plucking her pink Webkinz from her basket of gifts while Smallest One struggled into her shoes and coat, coughing all the while. I leaned down to scoop her up, finding a tissue in my pocket to wipe her nose before giving hugs and kisses and wondering how sick I'd be after this virus had a chance to incubate a bit. Shrugging it off, I set her back on the floor and let her cuddle the giant SpongeBob pillow that had settled in her box of presents.

We played and talked and, as 4PM neared, I helped Mom with a few of the items we were taking to Aunt's that evening. Chronically early as we are, we were bundled up and had the van loaded with presents, food and people and were heading to Brother's house just after 4 to pick him up for our "Christmas Eve" at Aunt's.

"I don't want to come in," Mom said when she called him. "The girls are sick, it's cold and rainy and we hoped you'd be ready early." She attempted to argue some more but finally tossed the phone to me where I perched in the last row of van seats. "He's very angry - I don't want to talk to him again."

I raised an eyebrow, sighing impatiently since we'd had to wait for his girlfriend to get off work and forced this event later in the day when the girls would have done better with an afternoon excursion. But Brother and I are both selfish people so I tried to take it in stride. I failed, however, when he called back and said 'fuck' more times than I could count in a 90% irrational tirade about how, by arriving 15 minutes earlier than the designated time, we had turned his children against him and Ruined Everything. "It's all a competition!" he raged, leaving me to blink in response. "And they only want to win. They're always beating me. I always lose." Frowning while he muttered, I told him to calm down - we'd wait and then we'd have "Christmas Eve" and all would be merry.

He hung up on me and I met Little One's worried eyes. "I want Daddy to go with us," she said softly and I nodded, recognizing the family manipulation characteristic when I saw it. As Smallest One began to repeat "Daddy" between sniffles and coughs, my parents and I grew more miserable sitting there in the rain. The fifth time Brother called to vent his frustration, we unbuckled and went inside to wait as he'd originally requested.

"I told you 4:30!" he said as we helped the girls with their coats. "No earlier! No later! Why would you come earlier?! Why?!"

"It's 4:20," I pointed out in what I thought was a reasonable tone and watched with horrified fascination when his nostrils flared and he began to slam dishes around in his kitchen. "Hey!" I interrupted sharply. "You Will Stop," I hissed, wearing my most disapproving of expressions. "You're upsetting the girls and this stops now."

Just after 5:00, both girls and Brother had been in tears. Apart from the brief bout of weeping, he remained furious while my parents and I tried - and partially failed - to elicit further outbursts. Still, given that they do keep the girls a lot - they've had them for 4 days straight and are rather exhausted - they were feeling a bit petulant and unappreciated themselves.

At nearly 1AM, Little One has emerged from our shared room and joined me on the couch. So we'll wait for a resolution for a little while longer.

Checking It Twice

"My test plan passed," I announced hurriedly, dropping off a huge binder and piling additional signed pages atop it. "So everything is covered in there and you should have all the paperwork required. I have to go - I have shopping to do and Mom will have the girls call to make me miserably guilty if I don't drive home on Wednesday."

I waved and said I'd be back in tomorrow as I shrugged into my coat while scampering down the hallways toward the lobby. I had finished the most urgent of emails. Done the biggest of experiments. And now it was time to escape for personal reasons.

Last week, I took care of my car. I had four customer meetings. I went out with friends. I completed several key action items. This weekend, I talked to Friend. I rearranged my bedroom and living room. I put gas in my car and bought a few groceries. I did laundry and picked up eye drops for my puppy. I left cat litter in the car to take to my parents for Mr. Sprout.

Despite being exhausted, I forced myself to Menards and Target. I tend not to enjoy home improvement stores, especially when having to work independently. But Brother called this weekend to ask if he should get a gift certificate for my parents and I frowned before saying I'd take care of it. We knew what we wanted - it seemed more thoughtful to actually purchase the object and risk them returning it rather than handing them a tiny card and wishing them luck.

So I braced myself before parking in the Menards parking lot and decided it didn't look too busy. I grabbed a cart and hurried toward the inclined walkway that led to the second floor. The wheels clung to the rubber mat so after giving it a few experimental, unsuccessful shoves, I stood still while I made my way slowly from the ground floor. I moved over toward the fireplaces and peered at them, wearing my best 'lost and confused' expression so someone would swoop in to rescue me.

When that didn't work, I braced myself and read the informative signs, sighing when I still didn't see what I wanted. Abandoning my cart, I set off to find help and interrupted a young man stocking shelves. He frowned after I finished my question and promised to call someone on the little communication device attached to his smock. I called a quick thank you and blinked at all the ventilation supplies around me before shuddering and heading back to the fireplaces to wait.

"Hi," Melanie called as she approached to offer her assistance. Her hair was pulled back in a smooth ponytail while her bangs swung free and I wished my own messy knot looked a bit neater.

"Do you know fireplaces?" I asked hopefully, grinning widely when she nodded. "Excellent!" I praised and began my story. "My parents have a wood-burning fireplace in their basement and like the gas one I have in my living room. I read online that there are inserts - I didn't bring the articles, but I'm pretty sure they're real - that switch fireplaces from wood to gas."

"So they like the one they have? No issues with how it looks or vents?" she asked and I nodded, dutifully following her to a low set of shelves and frowning as she showed me the various options. "How big is their fireplace?"

I blinked at her before shrugging and guessing it was average size. "More?" I tentatively decided when she asked how much heat I wanted. "Yes," I replied to her offer of a remote start, "Mom would like that." I smiled again when she placed the insert and remote in my cart and wished me a merry Christmas. I then left for the more comfortable confines of Target to finish shopping for the kids.

"We don't exchange gifts at Christmas," Sibling explained over lunch and I blinked at her with a forkful of spinach halfway to my lips. "How many do you get?" she asked curiously.

"Last year?" I paused to remember. "Four, I think?" I frowned. "Four sounds right - we've slowed down as we get older. But the girls get a lot."

"Quantify a lot," she requested and I smiled at her while chewing my salad. "Mom and Dad will probably get them 10-20 gifts each."

"Forty presents?" she exclaimed incredulously and I swallowed the remark that I'd planned to get them around 10 items each myself.

"It's just what we've always done," I shrugged. "We went to Grandma and Grandpa's when I was little and opening presents was always a lengthy event. Takes about an hour to get everything unwrapped and give cursory examinations of your new stuff. It's almost a measurement of affection, odd as that sounds. And I haven't purchased enough to indicate I love the girls as much as I do. So I'll go get more."

We ate in silence for several moments before I offered that I hate A Christmas Story with a passion.

"Thank goodness," she sighed. "At least we have that in common." Yet the other trait we share is that we're continuing to work through much of the holiday break, taking only a few days here and there for the next two weeks and trying frantically to get caught up before everyone returns. We chatted about how we're trying to keep up - checking items off lists and falling into bed at night realizing that morning is coming far too quickly.

Even as I write this, presents (8 each for the Ones from me) wait on the dining room table to be wrapped. But a fire is flickering and Chienne sleeping across the room. So it's cozy, even if spectacularly busy.

Ladies & Gentlemen

After 8 hours at the office, I departed mid-afternoon and met colleagues at a coffeehouse near campus. Three of us settled at a large wooden table near the counter, sighing in the warm glow of a flickering fire in the corner and muted conversations from every angle. As machines hissed and sputtered, we sipped and went over presentations to ensure we were operating from the same - or at least a similar - perspective on a particular project.

I looked around as we chatted, admiring the plush bear head mounted on the wall. Everything felt rather sweet and soft, gently coaxing one to relax for a cloudy afternoon in the cozy building. We pondered and laughed at our table, taking notes - me on paper and Sibling on her laptop - as PrettyHair considered questions and offered insightful responses.

After two hours, I started at the sharp vibration on my right hip, moving quickly to withdraw my phone. "It's time to meet Adam," I told them. "Do you want to come with me? It'll be fun!"

"Why doesn't he come here?" PrettyHair asked, nibbling at the final smidgen of her pumpkin bread.

"He prefers alcohol to caffeine," I repeated what he told me. "So we're just meeting at the bar across the way there." I bundled up while Sibling decided she'd join us soon and PrettyHair opted out for the evening.

It was shortly after 5 when I parked the Jeep barely a half mile from where it had waited at the coffee shop and carefully made my way across the ice and inside the building. I wandered through the lobby, glancing at the mostly-empty dining room before selecting a stool at the bar and perching on the edge while I pulled coat sleeves from my arms.

"Riesling would be lovely," I smiled at the bartender when he suggested a house wine at my prompting. I pulled phone from pocket again, frowning at it and laboriously entered "Waiting..." before sending the impatient message. After doing so, I looked around the dim space and admired how the low light still sparkled off the wine glasses hung from the ceiling. I wished for a moment that I'd sent a message to a lover, awaiting his arrival after a long day at work. Perhaps we'd kiss briefly when he managed to arrive before chatting over a drink or two and, once relaxed, departing for one house or another.

Reminding myself not to grow despondent - I've long known such a man isn't coming regardless of how much I wish or long I wait - I sipped the semi-sweet, golden wine and tried to relax. Adam arrived only moments before Sibling and ordered a beer before distracting me with stories of furious bosses and delightfully messy politics at work. I stayed at the bar, comfortably sandwiched between two of my favorite people, and had more wine and a few snacks while we giggled and talked.

"I have to go," I finally said as my phone reported it was near 7PM. "I have a teleconference soon." Adam waved me away after I thanked him for covering the bill and I hurried back to the office some 13 hours after I'd arrived that morning. I took two such calls from my office, rather enjoying the way the lights automatically flickered off - save a few spots for safety - promptly at 7:30.

I walked slowly toward my car again just after 9:30, inhaling the freezing air and watching the Jeep's lights illuminate reassuringly when I pressed the button my remote. I considered my situation - the cozy warmth of peppermint tea and dark chocolate mochas with fabulous women followed by cheesy snacks, German beer and sweet wine surrounded - apart from Sibling - by men. I was tired while I completed my commute and greeted Chienne in a house that was deterioriating from cluttered to pit o' messiness, doing little other than nibbling on some pretzels and yawning as I climbed the steps to my room.

- Backdated from when I meant to write it.

Prior Planning

I came in the door after chipping away at the mound of ice and snow that has accumulated at the end of my driveway, dropping Target bags on the kitchen floor before stuffing a couple items in the freezer.

"I brought you something," I told Chienne and her mood - already happy because I was home - grew to curiously delirious. I withdrew a mesh bag from the white plastic and opened the top before upending it and watching a dozen new tennis balls bounce happily over the tile in my kitchen as they diffused isotropically.

Chienne paused for a moment, watching all of them bounce, before glancing up at me and selecting one to chase down and carry in her mouth. At last count, only 8 remain scattered about the kitchen table. Two were placed downstairs and two up so that there's always something new and bouncy near at paw.

I try to allow the universe as few opportunities as possible to surprise me, trying valiantly to remain half-observant and prepared for what comes next. This weekend was spent largely on planning for Europe while I sat in front of the fire. I read hotel reviews; I pored over British Rails schedules; I memorized my 10 flight times and mapped out sightseeing routes in my rare free moments. I sighed over my hotel in northestern (I think) England, smiling when booking early saved me 10 pounds that I decided to spend on the cupcakes they could send to my room. (It will be my birthday - I deserve cupcakes.) I may have gained a few wrinkles while fretting over hotel locations in London, finally choosing two. I trembled a bit when selecting my room in Paris, deciding after hours online that I was more intrigued than afraid of the Iles and picking a pricey room there within walking distance of an older part of Paris. Being left only with choices in Munich, I decided to await recommendations from a colleague.

I battle feelings of intense excitement - I've long loved the idea of European travel and - apart from a single trip to England in grad school - have been unable to manage it. I also grow terribly nervous, knowing most of the trip will be spent feeling either delighted or unsettled (or both) because I'm a creature of routine. And when taken out of my element, my brain struggles to ever relax.

I was thinking - as the oven preheated to make a flatbread with ham and cheese and green onion for a simple supper - that there is a clear order for how I survive. I wake between 5:30 and 6, rolling from bed to stretch and brush my teeth before coming downstairs for coffee. I turn on the news - the local NBC station - and watch while I sip coffee with cream and check email and blogs before abandoning the Mac and opening my work computer to check my calendar and see what Asia and Europe have been up to while I slept.

Chienne generally comes down while I'm dealing with work email so I tell her good morning and she climbs up on the loveseat (no more hopping - she's getting to be an old girl) to cuddle a bit. After a bit, I go upstairs to shower and dress while she waits impatiently and whines demandingly. I follow her downstairs and put on my shoes while she scampers back and forth to the door before we head out for a walk. Upon coming home, she gets her eye drops - I murmur "good girl" after each eye - and then a munchy strip for a treat. I throw additional treats on the floor and request that she be good before heading out the garage with my laptop bag in tow.

So while a break in the routine is at least semi-welcome, there is a great deal of planning that must be in place. To that end, if you have suggestions for London, Paris or Germany, I'd very much like to hear them.

Closure

I tucked the pink envelope bearing my name into my bag on Tuesday. I sighed upon seeing it, hurrying worriedly from the labs to my office to gather my things before the snow storm grew windy enough to trap me at the office, and it followed my laptop and phone into the bag I threw over my shoulder as I moved briskly from the building to scrape snow and ice off the Jeep.

I drove home, thinking more about the people who'd made me stay long after darkness fell and the storm worsened and continuing to direct my focus between slow turns and steady stops. When I made it home, I tugged my laptop out and frowned at the card before leaving it sealed in an envelope and resting at the bottom of my bag.

There it has stayed for the duration of the week, catching my attention upon arrival and departure to home and work. I'm beginning, quite honestly, to wonder if it will eventually disintegrate in there, so loathe am I to open it and read the message. Nor, however, can I bring myself to actually throw it away. I apparently respond to my abandonment issues by avoidance.

It isn't that I was overly sorry to see her go, honestly. She had moved on mentally before it was time to physically go, but that's natural and understandable - using the remainder of one's time to carry out goals that were a bit more selfish than they otherwise would have been. It was a bit of a drain on the group but we loved her - personally and professionally - so it was easily tolerated.

I felt myself drift easily into my "you're leaving" routine. I was easily irritated at inconsequential events. I withdrew and refused a majority of the invitations, wondering how many farewell parties with the same attendance list that one person required. I was busy on her last day, flitting from one meeting to the next before going to meet with customers when I saw her blinking back tears and lifting her final box of belongings.

"Time to go?" I asked gently and she nodded before hanging her head. I tucked my arm threw hers and we walked - far more slowly the normal - down the familiar hallways and toward the lobby. "Are you OK?" I offered when she didn't speak, already missing the way she spoke and passion she brought to her work. She shook her head and I nodded in reply.

"Leaving is hard," I commiserated. "But this part will be over soon and you'll have your new life to enjoy. So focus on the happy." She nodded and after I gave her hugs and kisses, she followed me to the labs when I glanced quizzically over my shoulder.

"I don't want to go," she whispered, looking around at the expensive equipment in rooms that had gone dark for the evening. I was looking at her, wondering what comfort to offer, when the group that awaited me in one lab called demandingly from the door. I turned to answer a question and respond charmingly to introductions and when I turned back, she was gone.

I'm a pretty bad friend for the same reason that I rather forgot she was gone after that moment of sadness. I get engrossed in what I'm doing. I enjoy my own company and guard my time very carefully. I don't like speaking on the phone and am pretty much maxed out after I finish with all the teleconferences work demands. So it took me a moment to make sense of the pink envelope when I returned to my office several hours after she'd gone.

Adam and I talked a couple of days later, lounging in his office and giggling over private jokes. I told him I hadn't been able to deal with her leaving and he - not uncommonly - looked at me with some confusion. "I don't like change," I confessed. "And I love this job and this place - I'm settled. I'm staying. And I guess I'm realizing that it means most of you are going to leave me here."

"At first opportunity," he teased and I smiled weakly before continuing to look worried and upset. As I watched a becoming-familiar expression of vague concern shift into his expression (he frets since finding out I'm being medicated for depression - better than some outcomes but hardly ideal), I wondered if this was because I remain single. Because I rely so heavily on a 'love the ones you're with' philosophy on friends? Because I have no plan to increase my sphere of acquaintances?

"I'm fine," I said, standing to leave.

"You say that a lot," he replied, leaving me to nod and smile sheepishly as I made my escape.

Tattletale!

Industry is fun. And, like many fun places, there are games we can play.

The first I noticed was Hot Potato.
Rules: A task lands on a desk. Instead of doing the task and ending the game, we spread the enjoyment by sending any number of emails to 1) ask questions, 2) remark on the quality of the request or 3) explain why someone else is better suited to handle said task. Given that there is normally a 2-3 day delay between each new email, sometimes the tasks just go away because they've been ignored or discussed to death.

Now I've played hot potato with crap I really don't want to do. But I try very hard to complete action items that are possible. That habit, however, makes me resent the hell out of anyone who screws with my requests.

The trick to getting out of the game? The telephone. Confronting those who are hoping I'll just forget about it and the job goes away works wonders. And my handy spreadsheet of action items reminds me to follow up and demand explanations when crap takes too long.

The second game is more of a bad habit. One of my favorite parts of Industry is the clear power structure. I understand the organizational chart very well and find comfort in the explicit nature of it. But when I give an answer someone doesn't like, that person will go above or around me with repetitions of said request until they've found someone who'll make me do it or grow exhausted from the effort.

There are two things that should be widely known about me.
1. I like to make people happy. If I can do it, I will. I try not to say no and generally do it only when I'm protecting someone else's time.
2. I hate to lose. By going around/above me, people trigger my need for battle. And despite telling myself it's silly, I will put a tremendous amount of effort to make sure my response remains true.

I told someone no this morning. (It was actually a 'yes, but' rather than a firm 'no' but it was apparently read the same way.) I was also a bit terse in my reply because she's been bothering me incessantly about this thing and it just requires a lot of people's effort and isn't very important. So we'll try to get to it, but there aren't really guarantees. If something slips from the list, it could be her deal.

After multiple layers of trying to get around me, she ended up with the person who wanted my job before I started. Who then escalated it to 2 people the level above me.

Now that's OK - I was right and I don't mind defending my decisions. Still. I'm angry. And I shall plot revenge.

That's a game I indulge in quite a bit.

Thought Bubbles

Man1: "I didn't bring that."
Katie: [long pause which includes an expression which indicates I am shocked and frustrated] What, then, did you bring?
Unspoken thought: Dude. We exchanged fourteen emails this weekend coordinating this. You were irritating as hell. 14 times. And then you didn't do what you said you'd do! Do you not read English? Do you enjoy wasting time? Or are you an entirely useless individual?!
Unspoken thought after episode completion: Entirely Useless Individual.

Man2: You're a star.
Katie: Oh. You're welcome. No problem.
Unspoken thought: Had I know someone was going to murmur a complement with an English accent into my ear, I would have done something far nicer than going to fetch water for tea.

Woman1: It was awful.
Katie: Technical difficulties happen. Don't worry about it - we'll do better next time.
Unspoken thought: When you're late to begin a meeting, it gives you and any attendee very little time to adjust and work around said problems. Show up on time or stop complaining when your meetings go to hell. Because I'm tired of commiserating over problems you could have avoided.

Woman2: It's not possible to put all of those ideas on paper.
Katie: [Looks at example of the exact activity from another member of the team] I don't understand.
Woman2: It can't be done.
Katie: But Best did it. Right here. [Tap monitor.] I sent it to you so you could follow his example.
Unspoken thought: I understand you're burned out. I am hugely sympathetic that you may be struggling with a mood disorder. But when I ask you to capture knowledge in a presentation - something that our group does nearly constantly - I expect that to happen. It is not impossible. Saying it is makes no sense at all.

Man3: So you'll start in London, head to Germany then France.
Katie: Yes! [Begins to read off schedule.]
Man3: But those locations in England aren't that close together.
Unspoken thought: How the hell big is England? And aren't there trains?
Man3: I suppose you could get a car.
Unspoken thought: And drive on the other side of the road? No. I think not.
Man3: Plus, you could spend the weekend in Paris.
Katie: One weekend in London. One in Paris. Well, maybe 2 weekends in London - I'm completely infatuated with London.
Man3: Are you traveling alone?
Katie: I'm meeting people in various cities but I won't have the same buddy from beginning to end.
Unspoken thought: Thank goodness - people are irritating me lately.

Happy, happy!

• I received official approval to book travel to Europe. There is now a chance that I'll turn 31 in London!
• It's snowing! I enjoy snow once it's on the ground but I'm happiest while it's falling from the sky. Forecast indicates it will be falling from the sky a great deal this week.
  
• It's Monday! The Big Bang Theory is on Monday (CBS. 8:30 Central). It makes me giggle.
• Chienne is sleeping across the room. I missed her. It's very comforting to have her home.
  
• I awakened at 5:15 feeling rested. I'm growing used to darkness that won't lift until I'm on my way to work. And I'm still happiest in the morning.
  

Ick

Being management in Industry feels a bit whorish at times.

For the most part, it doesn't bother me. But I don't mind being called and ordered to make nice with that group over here or listen to that guy over there. I'm dutifully charming at dinners. I sip drinks and laugh at jokes that aren't always funny.

I support the sale of high-quality products. And I'm fine with that.

But. Sometimes. There are some people. And they're stupid and wrong and do not deserve even a second of my attention. And it makes me moderately insane to have to pretend their requests are reasonable. To do what they ask without pitching a fit.

I do not like. But, with economic conditions such as they are, I do not have a choice.

So when I reply to an email or hang up the phone and call someone a whore? I follow that up with, "Oh, wait. That's me."

And then I curse. So much as I enjoy a majority of what I do, this part is still sometimes tough.