The Day in Twenties

It takes until twenty after six to get out - but then, it took until eight a.m. to get up, and I was two hours late getting in today.  Without a single break all day - for lunch, even for a "short break" (easily accomplished when you're not drinking enough water - and miss breakfast) - it ends up coming out in the wash, actually.  I might have been able to leave sooner.  But mom's training and my own desire to accomplish certain things keep me there, and the worst is beaten down.

The past two weeks have been ten and a half hour days in a long row.  I'd had hopes today would let up, at least normalize, if not be less busy.  No such luck.  The highest of the high opens my day, word from the extremities of my employment, the stratospheric heights have chosen Transaction X for an audit, and I have to provide electronic copies of the documentation.  Not a tricky task, but between the digging, the picky equipment, and the interruptions, it's twenty minutes gone when every minute counts.

The whole day goes like this - including a nasty knock when the calendar I haven't looked at carefully enough comes up with a call for me, with my top boss.  I'm unprepared, but he appears unfazed.  We get through.  I keep pushing.

(And now, as I write, I realize one thing not done was the penning of a note, the sending to the team - an open invitation to do something nice for a couple of our folks.  Sigh.)

Notes to people I need to meet on an upcoming visit.

Orders set, and room notes taken down.

Several consultations with my chief partners in crime.

But I push off a friend for lunch - and do all I can for our attendance confirmations.  An astoundingly time-consuming task, reaching out to dozens of people for personal yea-or-nay when the electronic ones either haven't come, or don't tell the whole story, and neither has word of mouth.  This seems like the bulk of the day.  But there are also updates of to-do's, updates of general calendars, meeting inquiries sent,  all the sleeve-tugging of the day to day.

Travel for my management.  Two trips held; one slightly changed, then finalized.

Series of management trips, set out through November.

A dozen things I can't even remember now.  It's not my worst day, not by a long shot.  Not the hardest, not the most discouraging.  But not easy.  A day where the paycheck is earned.

It takes until twenty to six to get out.  The building is as empty as it needs to be; I can't see the guards, I don't see housekeeping, I am gone.  It's green through the window, and as I step out the grey sky asserts itself, the wind, the first drops of rain falling at the horizontal - not hard, but blown.

My skirt billows wildly, a bohemian confection of georgette and lace, asymmetrical, long.  Beiges around my body, a long soft sweater not quite warm enough for the mid-sixties with rain and wind in the grey.  The parking lot definitely empty.

I've never told anyone, but I can't bear to drive the old way home anymore.  Always take the "long" way now, unable to face stop and go, unable to face intersections, changes in speed limits, too many variables.  I've become afraid, this past year, to drive by anything but what seems somehow easier.  So it goes.

In the car, I want something not liable to make me bounce, to evoke dancing, noise, and dark rooms.  I shift, among the CDs available, over to Whitesnake.  It's cheesy, but the 80s evokes something for me.  Something I like.  It's not too downbeat, but it suits well enough.  By "Cryin' In the Rain" it's on the nose, perhaps, but I can take it.  The rain isn't too bad, I take it slow relative to the other traffic, and whistle my way home.  Whistling is the way I keep my face exercised.  You'd be surprised how well 80s hair bands work for this maintenance.

Home and in.  It might be a fair guess that the house of a single woman, unoccupied but by a cat and a puppy, would be a quiet space - but the radio is on for them, they themselves are life and activity.  Just putting down my bags isn't the silence of peaceful relenting.  The day isn't anything like over.

Pup out of the cage, I put my hands on her back and she's wiggling - grabbing one toy, getting away, exciteable with freedom - with the alpha coming home.  Radio off.  Dinner served.  A short trip to the yard, and I hoist my bags upstairs.

The bedroom is fragrant, still, darkening.  Soft pants, sneakers, cozy sweater dug out of the guest room - it's all spring clothes in my room now.  The weather report, on quietly enough, tells me this is foolish.

Penelope back inside again.  Computer - Windows crash.  I am not up for dealing with this.

Almost too late for the news.  I sit, eschewing windows, on the bare-bones, the quick-launch power side of my laptop.  Can't think about the problems awaiting on the full system.  This will do.  I connect to wireless.  Need to charge the tablet, too.

No ... interesting ... email.

It's already almost eight.  How did that happen?  Time soon enough for bed.  I've learned my lesson, of course - tomorrow I'm up at six no matter how miserable I feel.  Still may be there till after six, but every twenty minutes counts.  Open up Blogger.  It's been 100 minutes since I left work ...