Free coffee actually is a motivator for me. Free coffee that comes in decaff, 50-50, full, hot chocolate, and mocha, in light, medium, and dark blends, is even better. But when all this comes with a cupboard full of mugs and a dishwasher for them along with a sign explaining that the dishwasher disinfects them so please use that, you know you are among either cooks, or women. Or both.
Today I got praise from BE (Big Editor) and I was very happy. I also am starting to appreciate that if I stay, if we all do well, I may get to be a part of something kind of fun. Some free swag contributed to this heady feeling, along with potentially getting to cover some exciting, if a little fluffy, stuff.
Despite all this little issues like whether my pantyhose was one shade too dark are starting to haunt me. I thought I was doing well to have more or less passed Girlthings 101 and suddenly I find myself in the honours programme. I realize that in a few months the mask will have vanished and they will have to take me as I am and learn to give warnings if they are going to, god forbid, take my picture (they are going to) or videoblog me (ditto, help!). But in the meantime I’m just trying to pass the midterm, you know?
The scary thing is actually that I do have to learn to appreciate them, like, editorially. Enough to know who to ask.
I picked Noah up today and he was sitting with his teacher, sort of watching things. He didn’t look miserable, but he didn’t look particularly joyful either. When he saw me he made his sad face and ran over, but he didn’t cry – not sure if I think this stalwart thing is a good sign of adjustment or an apocryphal sign that we have messed him and his emotions up Forever. His teachers report that he seems to be doing ok, although again, not a whole lot of the joy after say, noon.
He certainly is learning a mile a minute. He comes home full up of new words and even facts (kanroo HOP) and shares them (another verbal processor, poor Carl). I would say something soothing like “well if he’s learning on his fourth day, he must be feeling pretty comfortable” – except that we always managed to learn a million things while abused and miserable, so, no go there.
The dichotomy is very hard. I have this sense that my personal life is not really completely in line with my values in that I think part time care would be best. And yet my professional life is sort of clicking in this hugely exciting way. What kind of pains me is that it is a small two year old child who hangs in the balance.
I realize people who have made this choice already may tired of my angst and drama about it, but too bad; this is my process. Come back in a month.
