There’s been a lot going on at work over the last six or eight months, some of which I’ve posted about, none of which is of any real interest of anyone but myself. Suffice to say I’m a manager, second in command in my department, and the work load went up last winter, and people started resigning this spring. I got through the first two resignations sort of okay – and took news of the third (from a guy who I truly consider a good friend) with reasonable equanimity. Monday came word of a fourth resignation – this one from a person in a different position, with backup available from a freelancer I’ve been working with for eight or nine years, also a good friend, so that’s doable.
Tuesday I had a talk with the first replacement employee, who’s been there three months and who isn’t really working out – I was half hoping she’d say “No, not working out for me either, let’s cut our losses” – she didn’t. I’m not actually high enough on the food chain to issue ultimata, so I merely indicated my displeasures as specifically and helpfully as possible, made a few suggestions, and left it at that.
Yesterday morning, I realized that the itchiness and little water blisters all over my hands (plus on a couple of spots on my legs) wasn’t some rash of the not-necessarily-poison-ivy variety that I’d picked up over the weekend, when I did a LOT of long-overdue weeding in the back yard – it’s eczema. You’d think I’d recognize eczema, since I’ve been having periodic outbreaks of it ever since I was a wee twickster-in-training of five or so – but no, I haven’t had a bad outbreak in five years or so. Certainly not since I’ve been on antidepressants, which is four years.
Called to make a doctor’s appointment, since it’s not responding to the OTC cortisone cream that usually nips an outbreak in the bud (a moment’s pause to meditate on that choice of words – eff it, onward!) – nothing till next Wednesday. Sat down at the computer to start going through my email, grabbing a couple of Tums to munch on whilst doing so –
And the lightbulb went off. “Yup,” I said to myself, “I am now Officially Totally Stressed Out™.”
It’s a wonderfully clarifying moment, owning that level of stress. Having realized it, my decision-making is simplified: At each moment, when I weigh a possible course of action, I need to ask myself the question, “Will this increase or decrease my level of stress?” Put that way, my choice is usually clear. Being a way-too-responsible type (Capricorn, alas), this doesn’t mean I start shirking my obligations – because that causes stress – it means I weigh my priorities and tackle stuff in order of importance. Having an annoying job hanging over my head causes stress – I’ll deal with it now. Etc. You get the idea.
Since yesterday was Wednesday, an evening that my local library (a mere block from my house) is open, I thought I’d go over there and borrow a couple of videos [less stressful than renting at Hollywood: since they’re free, I don’t have to stress about wasting money if I decide not to watch them] and maybe a couple of novels [less stressful than the huge stack of various types of footnoted nonfiction in my “read these next” pile at home].
Naturally, the library was closed. I’m standing there staring at the locked doors, from the bottom of a long flight of steps, when a woman came up to stick a few things in the return bin – I asked her, “Today is Wednesday, right?” because for a minute I really wasn’t sure. Their A/C was broken.
Sigh.
