Relevations and Fusstrations
I suppose I must be packing to warrant a break from packing. We’ll call this part of my routine, which is as follows: pack two sweaters, go to the kitchen for a glass of water, walk back to my room, throw 3 shoes into a bag, hunt for the fourth, check my email, find the fourth, lose the bag...
I want to pack less, but my fashion compassion refuses to yield. I’m a sucker for lonely clothes. The sweaters and skirts that never get out hopefully squeeze themselves beside my old stand-bys. The awkward skirt with so much potential. The sexy, knee-high boots that hide under my jeans. The little black dress that has only sees my bedroom mirror. They’re all coming home for the holidays. After I make an appearance at work and get a quick haircut, I’m starting on the first 400 miles of my trip. I love to drive. I hate to pack, but I love when I get behind the wheel with some Orbitz citrusmint gum, a big Diet Coke, and my finger on the "seek" button.
But I'm a bad little elf - I have two untouched boxes of Christmas cards.
When I return to my bed in two weeks, I will be a year older (and have cheaper car insurance – I think they do that to soften the blow), I will have logged over 23 hours on the road, and I will have met some new faces. I’m already tired just thinking about it.
One more thing – I made [another] important career decision. All this week at work, I have been practically alone and I have been fairly busy – until today. I got there at 9, and I was ready for a nap by 11. I thought that my downtime would result in a flurry of productivity. It was more of a lethargic hum. At the office Christmas party, the same joke about “that Secret Santa gift must be from Earl” kept circulating as common currency for funny. I heard two women coach a co-worker on suit shopping, “NO NAVY BLUE!” The office stickler/good ole boy ranted about the poor not taking time for their kids; my favorite office hippie offered an intelligent rebuttal. People on elevators talked about things people on elevators talk about – the weather, holidays, surprise over not stopping on the first floor. A few lucky ones board the elevator with an ally and avoid awkward conversations. Polite purse or shoe compliments are met with store recommendations. In the office, a mom hissed at her son for being hungry. Christmas music played softly from PCs. A certain ultra-southern cackle rang in my ears as I sat in my cubicle with nothing work-related to do. People whined in clichés about the air conditioning, holiday traffic, Christmas shopping…and other people offered just as clichéd solutions. I realize I sound hateful, and I don’t mean to be. I’m amused by the buffers we (myself included) create as we navigate social situations. But today, I was miserable. My conscience won’t let me work too much on my papers on the company’s dime. I have already worked ahead of myself in anticipation of what might be asked of me. I thought bad, non-Christmas-y thoughts. However, I have recently flirted with other jobs because of the downtime for reading and writing they seem to offer. Now, I have learned that a job with more downtime would not increase my creative output. Instead, it might just make me snippy and fat, and a little too organized. Well, maybe it would take a little more than that to get me organized…
When I return to my bed in two weeks, I will be a year older (and have cheaper car insurance – I think they do that to soften the blow), I will have logged over 23 hours on the road, and I will have met some new faces. I’m already tired just thinking about it. 
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