Sorry -- too busy watching Cute Things Falling Asleep to post. Don't believe me?
Resistance is futile.
About a month ago I realized that it was time. It had been far too long and I was mortified at the idea that the people I care about might discover just how bad things had become. So, I drew myself up, steeled myself for a difficult challenge, and I went shopping for socks.
I bought about 15 pairs of socks. When I got home that day, I went through Le Drawer du Socks, collected the threadbare, the holey, the shrunken and the overstretched, and I put them all in one special place. I then tied off the special place bag, carried said bag down the hall, and threw that bag down Le Chute de Trash.
The new socks have made a full rotation. All have been washed at least once, and more than half of them went through the wash a second time just this week. There have been a few problems with some of the new socks, however. To be fair, they don't fall down, they aren't transparent at the heels, and they never bunch around the instep when I put shoes on, thereby cutting off the blood supply to the toes. The sole problem (heh, get it?) with many of the new socks is that the gripping power around the lower calf/upper ankle area is almost too intense. Still, it's not the whole sock that grips too tightly -- it really is solely (oh yeah) the top band that sucks into my flesh in an uncomfortable way. And given a choice between socks that won't hold on at all and socks that hold on for dear, sweet, antibacterial cotton life, I'll choose the grippers every time.
So today I put on a fresh pair of the new Super Gripper socks that *did not* just come out of the wash this week, which means that this particular pair has been worn and washed just once before. I then put on my favorite red Dansko clogs (and, you know, pants and a top, not to mention a coat and scarf) and went off to enjoy a lovely Day Of No Working. This day wasn't too terribly strenuous, but there was some shopping, then a movie (Coraline in 3D - do not pass Go; see it in the theater with the funny glasses or you'll be wicked sorry), then a few quick errands, then home where the clogs were immediately kicked off. Dinner was prepped and, as I sat down to enjoy a refreshing beverage in front of a rousing game of Jeopardy while dinner simmered on the stove, I noticed my left big toe getting a bit of a draft (and by draft I do not refer to a beer, ale, lager, or other adult liquid, despite the mention of a beverage being enjoyed). And there it was: My left big toe, in all its trimmed but unprettified winter glory, peering out of my new olive green sock like nobody's business.
This wouldn't have happened back when Mother Ju used to knit our socks. Of course, I have absolutely no memory of her knitting any socks in my lifetime, and no living family member has ever corroborated her story despite never having been asked about it by me, but still she *insists* that she not only used to knit our socks (obviously argyle - it was Marblehead in the '70s after all) but that she baked cakes and cookies *regularly* which is a complete and total lie because everyone knows she only baked for company and for temple bake sales or else why would I have grown up feeling deprived, unloved, and unlovable? So as you can now see clearly and unequivocally, it is my mother's fault that there is a hole in my brand new sock.
The End.
*tap* *tap*
I'm here, but I think I've scared off all but a diehard or two. Hi! *waving* Thanks for stopping by from time to time even though there's only a rare payoff ... and not much of a payoff at that. I can't promise much today, either, but I felt compelled to post anyway.
I've had a few tough months, with several significant deaths amongst my family and friends, plus a lot of pressure at work, all compounded by what some might call the winter blues. My boss seems to think that the way to motivate people is to tell them how they are not performing up to expectations and threatening them with letters to their files, to HR, and to anyone else who might care.
Considering the kind of work I do (student affairs, counseling, coaching), which is largely about actively supporting and encouraging people to motivate them to succeed, you might think it's a little bit counterintuitive for the person who leads folks like me to use criticism, threats and intimidation to inspire greater productivity and better job performance. So far, though, it's working.
I mean, my performance and that of my colleagues has really ramped up, so the boss is getting exactly what was intended. What the boss is also getting, however, is an extremely unhappy, uninspired, and emotionally deflated staff.
The work I do involves talking and meeting with students (and sometimes parents) almost all day long. It requires the ability to problem-solve, create action plans, teach, comfort, listen, encourage, identify individuals at risk of flunking out, harming themselves, or harming others, counsel, inspire, and hold it together when upholding unpopular policies or explaining bureaucratic processes, some of which stir up volatile emotions in the people who are subjected to them. This all requires a great deal of tact, empathy, expertise and institutional knowledge, patience, and the ability to be authoritative. All of this demands a huge reserve of emotional energy, and that reserve must get replenished periodically.
I am fortunate to have worked in supportive environments in the past, where supervisors as well as colleagues helped one another to stay emotionally strong, motivated, and full of ideas and energy. Right now, though, my reserves are depleted. My colleagues are unable to help because they're running on the fumes of fumes themselves. My daily medication cocktail, which includes an anti-depressant, an ADD drug, iron and B-12 supplements, and a hypo-thyroid pill, isn't doing the trick. I'm checking job listings daily, but in this economy there's not much out there (as I'm sure some of you know only too well). I'm considering a lobotomy if something doesn't change soon.
Any other suggestions?