Cubed

I imagine that pasta dough, after being extruded to make spaghetti, would feel close to how I feel after this week at work: pressured, limp, and strung out. Long workdays and surprise assignments resulted in late arrivals at home, grouchiness, and home-front sniping. The days went quickly, but only because my workload was so high that there wasn’t nearly enough time. As soon as I checked something off my list, four more would take its place. I was running on a treadmill with the incline constantly increasing. I hate running.

This morning, I fought back tears as I drove to work. The grim knowledge that I had been on the job market for 10 weeks and had nothing to show for it except a spreadsheet showing 47 applications, 2 interviews, and 2 subsequent rejections was almost too much to bear alongside such weighty unhappiness at work. Part of me debated that it would be better for me to just get the crying over with before I got to the office, but some stubborn imp wanted to prove that I didn’t have to cry. I wasn’t that tired. Things weren’t that bad. Grow up, already, I told myself rather harshly. So I didn’t cry.

Chaos greeted me as I stepped into the reception area of the office. We were having some construction done to make more efficient workspaces, which meant that my workspace was being downsized to a standard cubicle. I didn’t really mind because my desk was way too big for me, but the construction people were supposed to be finished with the space where I sit by the end of the day on Wednesday. Coming in this morning to pieces of file cabinets and desks strewn about meant that I would have to revert to my makeshift workspace in the conference room, again. Sigh.

After five crunched hours of work and a grueling three-hour meeting, I finally emerged to see my finished cubicle. It was nothing special. Beige. Padded. I rolled up my sleeves and headed toward the contents of my desk, contained in bright red Staples copy boxes. As I unpacked, I took small, quiet pleasure in building my new space. I hooked up my phone, set up my docking station, laid out my big calendar, put up pictures of JG and me. Not bad at all, I thought.

I drove home with a settled mind, breathing easily. Somewhere, between figuring out where my stapler should go and labeling my surge protector, organizing my cubicle had quieted me down. I was no longer a tornado, taking everything in my path. I paused to think about how grateful I was for the peace and sent up a little wish that it would stay with me, for just a little bit.

JG welcomed me home with a hug and a perfect summer dinner. Tomorrow morning, we’re heading to the beach with for the day with friends. Things are looking up.