I am currently, as one kind friend described me, a stress kitten. Eyes wide, legs akimbo, fur on end, tail erect, claws desperately scratching on a slippery surface, and I just can't catch my footing. Four-and-a-half days and counting till I leave the relative comfort of my magazine job for a corporate gig. Little-known fact: The pillars of my new building are numbered and lettered, much like a parking garage, because this place is so huge, people get lost, doomed to wander the rows of cubicles and cry out into the void. Denial has surely given way to panic over this decision. It's already been made! Don't look back! I know this, but I obsess anyhow. And it's making me a bit physically ill.
To make matters worse, these last few days will be insane. My final deadline. Gulp. Gatherings with friends. The Banker's office party on Friday night and a quick departure out of town the next morning for a friend's wedding. (The wedding, at least, should be interesting. Our friend's uncle is quite famous, in a fat, pompous, I-think-I-know-what's-best-for-America-and-I-bellow-my-beliefs-into-the-airwaves kind of way. Not that I'm Rushing to any assumptions he'll be that much of an ass in person, if he attends at all.) We'll be staying overnight and returning on Sunday, just in time for me to lose sleep about my orientation at the new job on Monday.
Add to this the encroaching holidays, demands of family, and what the animal behavioralist had to say about our dogs, and I've transformed from a purring ball of fluff into this frantic thing who can't quite catch up with herself and untangle her claws.
1 comment:
Just don't forget to breathe. As long as you breathe you'll be fine.
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