I had a mini meltdown at work Tuesday. Around 4pm I sat frozen in my seat for ten minutes, unable to type one more word, return one more phonecall, find one more flight or hotel or tour. The overwork is horrendous. There isn't enough time in the day to finish everything we take on. Juggling the workload keeps my nerves constantly frayed, and I dread answering the phone, or listening to my voicemail, or reading my email because it means more work. The only reason I didn't walk out the door is because I'm twenty years beyond being able to walk out the door of any job without notice. Common sense keeps me in my seat, and a firm conviction that now is not the time to quit. We're insanely busy, but if they were to hire a new agent tomorrow I'd be back on my feet in a week. This misery could so easily be assuaged.
I do not think my company plans to make my life easier. Sadly, I'll probably have to do that myself. But not now. Unfortunately, now is bad. Now is very bad, indeed.
I called John to request diversion, and he complied by telling me about the Bekins movers who scanned our boxes and gave a highly accurate estimate of how much stuff we had. 15,000 pounds, just like I said two weeks ago (actually I said 16,000, but John's already shifted about 1,000 pounds of it into a storage locker. He owns a lot of magazines). We're moving next Saturday, and I think we'll be ready. Apparently the movers were kind of impressed at how much we've already packed. I bet they see a lot of denial in their job.
In fact, packing helps take my mind off work fairly effectively. I get a glowing sensation of accomplishment after wrapping and fitting objects into a box. It's like solving puzzles, and it leaves obvious proof of hard work. My living room and hallway are lined with boxes, and the walls are bare. Another two nights and all the tiddly bits will be wrapped, the porcelain and china and glass. Then I can start on the pictures. Once those are done, the pantry and bathrooms must be boxed up. Lastly, the kitchen and computers, done Friday night before we move. Twenty four hours later we'll be in our new home. I hope we fit.
I'm certainly the queen of advice lately, though I rush to point it's all been solicited. First, I told Rick he was a heartless baboon to buy his girlfriend a ring and then not ask her to marry him while leaving it out in plain sight so she knew he had it. Personally, I'd be cheesed off by that kind of behavior, but Rick said his girlfriend understood he was just waiting for the right time and place. Wrong again, Advice Woman! Then Jessie wanted to know what she should buy for her shade garden, and I made her a list (astilbe, caladium, iris, hosta, columbine, dicentra, and any other woodland plant you can think of). I'm your woman for shade plants, though that's the extent of my garden knowledge.
I love giving advice. It's a little embarrassing, because I'm not actually all that empathetic with other people. I just enjoy bossing them around. What this means is I'm always giving someone the benefit of my experience or my own personal way of reacting to something, and I'm just as frequently out in left field as far as it being useful to that person. I know it's very human to want to answer a question, even if you don't have any actual information. Certain cultures hate to say no, or admit to lack of knowledge, so they'll tell you something, anything, just to have an answer. I'm inclined to behave that way, annoying as it is. I really like the sound of my own voice.
Funny no one's ever been able to get me to take a management position. You'd think I'd be a natural.
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