home

A while back, around new years, I posted a musing on what kind of person I would be in a year. One never knows what the coming months will bring; we're at the point in our lives where every morning dawns with only the guarantee that things won't be the same at dusk. To prove my point, I promptly quit my job; no longer "college administrator" or "premed advisor" I became instead "dog walker." Or "phone-call maker." Or "girl who pretends not to cry when the beautiful Rottie is deemed unadoptable." I'm still trying this new identity on for size, still trying to figure out where my life fits into this chaos of always-on-your-feet, uniform-required, loud and dirty and sad and rewarding and crazy married-to-your-job environment.

And I don't have much time to ponder it or discuss it, because in the spirit of embracing change and charging forth, I've gone and bought a house.

I keep saying it because it hasn't registered yet; people seem to think it's very exciting and the permanence, the hugeness of the whole thing just hasn't hit me. Maybe it's because it's a townhouse--it's really only part of a building, after all. And we haven't had the big somber closing event with the lawyers, so possibly after that you'll find me curled up in the fetal position on the floor. It's hard to process, because for the past week my life has been composed solely of work, dinner, and lengthy conversations with my parents, Joe's parents, the realtors.

What I do know is that it's a beautiful, light-filled house packed with windows, and the cats can have their own room, and there's a garage, and it's in damn near the cutest part of NoVA I've encountered. I'm a half-mile walk from the frozen custard store, and that, my friends, is exciting. What's especially thrilling to me is that now, forever, nobody else can come into my home without my invitation. I can be secure in the knowledge that I own something, some little piece of the world belongs to me, if nothing else goes right I have a place to come home to and it's mine, just what I want, just perfect for me and Joe and this crazy little furball family we have. In my head I'm already sitting at the breakfast bar checking email before work, curled up next to the big bay window reading a book, sunning on the patio on a rare day off.

In the meantime, I have to figure out how to pack up and move my life from one place to another in one month when I DON'T HAVE ANY DAYS OFF.

Hm. Anyone looking to make a quick buck?

yeah, i didn't quite expect this

So I'm not adjusting as quickly as I thought to my sort-of-altered work schedule. By sort-of-altered I mean "I'm never home anymore."

There's traffic. And I never leave work when I think I'm going to. There are things to do. I leave home at 9. I get home at 8. I'll adjust.

The blogging will suffer.

I'm sneaking in a blog entry now, I probably shouldn't be, I have lots of things to be doing, but I'm working very diligently and I'm processing applications and I'm talking on the phone and I'm doing just what your average person does on a day at work.

And there's a Basset Hound sitting on my foot.

Awesome.

cold feet

Monday I went to Newjob for a bit, to try to get my feet wet and learn where the copier and the bathroom and the water fountain are. I started off my glamorous new career by stuffing envelopes, doing background checks on complete strangers, and helping evaluate the behavior of an effusive rottweiler who managed to try to eat the fake baby used as part of the evaluation. I was not particularly good at any of these things.

Yesterday, at Oldjob, I had a meeting with a particularly delusional, difficult student who has been the bane of my existance for a year and a half and, prior to that, the bane of my predecessor's. It seemed that nothing we could say could get this kid to understand the reality of his situation--we screamed, we pleaded, we begged, we tried everything. While meeting with him for the 20th and final time yesterday, I had an epiphany, a breakthrough. Suddenly and clearly I saw exactly what his problem was, what he was doing and why and what the best way to get through to him would be. And not for the first time, but certainly for the last, I thought, "DAMN, I'm good at this job."

It is scary, terrifying even, to be leaving my comfort zone. I am competent at my job. I excel, actually, at my job. I have been here for a while and I am used to knowing the game, I am used to being the go-to girl. It's not hard to become accustomed to confidence, to get complacent with your own skill. When the novelty of being senior, of training new hires, of being a leader wears off, you just get the benefit: the daily ego boost of knowing you know your shit.

Standing in the shelter on Monday, bracing my forearm against the enthusiastic leap of the rottweiler, I wondered if I was doing it right, if the trainer thought I was stupid, if I was supposed to try to correct the behavior or just let the trainer evaluate it. I drank 32 ounces of water but didn't go to the bathroom because what if the walls are too thin and they could hear me at the front desk? I didn't say much to anyone, my vocal cords paralyzed by insecurities, incompetence, ignorance. It's been a long time since I've been the Dumb New Girl.

I know in a few months I'll think this is funny, but right now I still have a lot of anxiety to work through. The details and logistics and oh-crap-I-have-to-drive-to-work-now realizations of starting a new job have so far prevented me from worrying and terrifying over the implications of this particular job change for my career, my future, my sense of self, my relationships; I still have all of that to doubt and fear and obsess over. So y'all have that to look forward to.

Meanwhile, where's the cheapest place to buy jeans? I don't think my three pair are going to last too long.

I don't have to sign up for American Idol quite yet

Bea (our foster) has found a permanent home. We deliver her on Saturday. I didn't fail.

Which is good, because my termination at Old Job became official today. So quitting New Job is now officially Not An Option.

My preparatory shopping list has grown to bizarre and ridiculous proportions. When you know you are about to start making less money, do you start saving IMMEDIATELY? Or do you rush right out and buy every thing you think you will need for the foreseeable future while you still have the cash?

I think we all know the answer.

I have two days off from work. I should be cleaning out my closet (getting rid of all them fancy pants), fixing the door locks on my car, reading books on dog breeds. It's possible I'll do all those things; it's also possible I will burn holes in my wallet. Let's hope I make it through this week fiscally solvent.

Two Things

First, Mr. Important YuppieMan on the Metro, men should not carry purses. If they chose to carry bags, they should be of the structured and manly macho variety, not the crocheted slouchy variety.

If men such as yourself choose to cary slouchy feminine manbags, they should not compensate for their choices by manfully plopping said bag directly in the middle of the floor on a crowded metro train in the middle of morning rush hour in an attempt to prove their masculine right to space. Because if you do, you lose all right to surprise when I kick aside your masculine manful gesture in my feminine womanly attempt to get off the train at my stop.

And the second thing: I possibly have failed at my new job before I even start. Some lovely nice people came to meet our foster cat this weekend, and were approved for adoption, and in my overeager attempt to give them a thorough picture of the good and bad characteristics of this particular cat, I may have terrified them and made them question their choice to even adopt an animal at all, ever. So, yeah. That's confidence-building.

If Eleanor still reads my blog, she is going to be very dissapointed in me.

i'm going to have to do so much more laundry now

This morning I woke up with the oddest feeling in my right arm. Really, the lack of feeling. Except it wasn't numb; it was heavy, it was tingly, and I had absolutely no control over its movement. Sitting up in panic, I watched it flop into my lap and my heart started racing as I poked and pinched it, wondering how I would make it through the next 60-some years with no right arm. I couldn't lift my arm. I couldn't move my fingers. It was terrifying and yet fascinating and all sorts of things were pounding through my sleep-blurred mind for the few minutes until I fully awakened and the blood flow, and feeling, returned to my arm.

I also had a powerful leg cramp in my left calf--the kind where you're not sure whether to flex or relax the leg, bend or straighten, but it's so painful you're not sure you'll ever recover. And I've got an odd stabbing pain in my right shoulder this morning.

My body is either releasing all the stress and anxiety of the last several months, or gearing up for more. Yesterday I quit my job and accepted a position as adoptions coordinator at a prominent DC-area humane society. I use "humane society" rather than "animal shelter" in order to emphasize the services and programs offered by the organization, in order to reinforce the idea of the humane society as an education and welfare organization and not just a dog pound. Because I will be doing so much more than just helping people pick animals--I'll be participating in humane education, working with volunteers, writing, doing outreach, counseling, training, helping make tough decisions, increasing visibility and understanding.

I am terrified.

And so excited.

I told Joe that this is either the bravest thing I've ever done, or the stupidest. He pointed out that "brave" is what people say when they're too polite to say "stupid." We also considered that "brave" is what people say when something works; "stupid" is what they say when it fails.

I always read about people who "left a promising career in finance" to go non-profit or "walked away from a career in law" to open a yarn store. I never thought I would be a person who "walked away" from something. But I am, at least for now, walking away from the only thing I've ever really done, walking away from my training and experience and background and trying to apply that to something entirely different. It's alarming. And it's exactly the right thing for me to do.

I'm still not ready to write about what it was like to quit yesterday--it was a lot sadder than I expected it to be. But for the next two weeks I will be taking leftover vacation, tying up lose ends, breaking the news, and training my replacement. I'll also be trying to figure out what kind of shoes are best for all-day wear in an animal shelter. Any suggestions?

Oh, and once more, I QUIT MY JOB. I GOT A NEW ONE. I COMPLETED A NEW YEARS RESOLUTION.

What am I going to whine about now?