Tuesday, July 22, 2008

Just sittin' here for hours on end

... meaning, I'm back at work. Hour after hour after hour.

Oddly enough, coming back to work after our wonderous vacation did not stress me out or give me an anxiety attack - I'm thinking the meds have kicked in for real - but it just seems amazing to me that we all have to sit, sit, sit at our computers for so bl**dy much of the day. I am bored, bored, BORED! And my bum is a bit numb.

I'm not kidding about the meds. It's almost like a little switch has gone off.

I know I'm feeling calmer about things that usually cause me anxiety, such as packing to leave from vacation. I'm usually weepy and dreading the car trip and making sure I've got a flashlight and what would I do if my husband suddenly became incapacitated while driving and could I steer the car to safety though the power steering doesn't work if you turn off the engine and is Charlie's car seat really going to protect him and I could stand an amputation but please don't let me die and leave my precious family.

Actually in all honesty, I did think about all that a bit, but - I didn't bother to check to make sure I had a flashlight, nor did I specifically determine where the cell phone was in my bag!

The big thing is noticing my inner voice that makes me think of the bad stuff about myself. For example, back a couple of months ago when I was thinking that my colleague here (who I referred to as "grunchy") was hatefully thinking of me as an old uncool hag and why was I in such a low level job reporting to someone so young, etc. She probably wasn't thinking that at all -I know she's unhappy in her job, and she also told me she had been worried about me. Or, maybe she was thinking of me an an uncool hag a little but now I just really don't care. It's easier for me now to recognize those nasty thoughts and reason them away or combat them with more positive thoughts.

The Globe and Mail is doing an excellent series on stuff like this. The piece I've related to most is a woman who pictures "a miniature scowling version of herself" she refers to as "The Editor". I don't refer to my nasty inner voice as that what with actually being an editor and seeing it as the way I make my living; not really a negative thing, but I do know what she means. Check it out.

The other good thing is that my b*ss doesn't sit right beside me any more; feels great. The bad thing is all the work she insisted I not worry about because she was going to cover for me did not get covered.


Here's something a wee bit weird. I spoke to an affable chap from our parent company in the UK today, so all day I've been feeling like I'm writing with an English accent.

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