Moving Out and Up

I survived my first week of work. Actually, I more than survived - I flourished. I really did love it. Let's back up a bit though, shall we?

Wednesday was my last day of work. I wore a fun, new, work-inappropriate dress from Francesca's:

I spent most of the day writing instructions for my replacement, whom they have yet to hire. Around 3, we all pretty much stopped working and started getting ready for our little shindig. My co-workers gave me these beautiful roses they coined as "Vera Bradley roses" because of the pattern that reminded them of all my Vera Bradley accessories. We made sangria and my boss bought my two favorite wines - Kim Crawford sauvignon blanc and Cupcake sauvignon blanc. A few colleagues came over and we ate and drank and chatted. When it was just our department and spouses left, my boss gave me a hug and said she wanted to leave before me or else she'd be an emotional wreck watching me leave. It's nice to feel so loved and appreciated at work. A few of us stayed till about 7 or so, and then I met some friends at a bar for dinner and more drinks. I think I finally got home around midnight.

I spent Thursday and Friday just enjoying some time off. I unplugged as much as I could and slowly began packing, which I did the bulk of on Saturday.

Sunday was tough for me. I had packed up my car on Saturday night save a few bags, but I woke up with a pit in my stomach knowing in a few hours, I'd have to leave Rags until the weekend. About two weeks ago, something changed in his behavior. He stopped letting my dad take him for walks if I was home, and started following me everywhere, even into the bathroom. I think it was mostly because I was recovering from surgery and spending more time in bed, but also because I was packing up boxes and he knew what that meant. I cried like a baby when I kissed him goodbye and said what I say every morning before work, "I'll see you later baby!" He cried and scratched at the door which he very rarely does - he knew.

I cried again as I drove away, again on the phone with my mom on the highway, and a few more times on the the 90-minute drive to Woburn. I knew I'd see him Friday night, but I cried because I felt bad for him. He was confused and scared. But I know it'll be a good change for both of us when we finally have our own (almost) space again.

Unpacking was uneventful, aside from being ungodly hot. I didn't even really unpack. I hung up my hangers in Julia's spare closet and put my toothbrush in the bathroom. I'm basically living out of boxes, bags, and suitcases until August 1. It's just not worth the work to unpack and then do it all again in three weeks.

Having Juls and Donny as "roommates" is nothing new since I've stayed with them so often. But Julia's cooking is top notch and I feel like a houseguest since she just does her thing in the kitchen while Donny and I drool over the smells and then devour the end results. Kitty has taken a liking to me and now doesn't mind me sharing her space. Buster is a lovebug as always, and is getting better about stealing my food off the plate while I'm eating. When I'm sitting on the couch, we're about the same height so if I were him, I'd try to steal my food, too!

I do look forward to being in my condo as of August 1, but it's more likely that I won't sleep there until the 3rd or 4th. As of right now, I'm sitting on my bed in Longmeadow. I got back here last night to spend the weekend with Rags. He was SO happy to see me, and has hardly left my side. Dad and I went out to breakfast this morning (I was up before him - that happens about twice a year) and Rags freaked out when we left, but he is happily dozing about 8 inches away from me right now.

More about the job and commute next time!

Bad Makeup

It really does look like I'm wearing uneven, excessive purple eyeshadow and eyeliner. I went over to HR this morning to sign a bunch of crap that says today is my last day, and was sitting very close to one of the women. She didn't say anything about my eyes. I know she could see the purpleness. She probably assumes I'm being beaten and that's why I'm running off to Boston.

Boston, You're My Home

Well, almost. For those of you who know me personally, you know that last week I accepted a position at a Boston hospital. This has been my dream for a long time, pretty much ever since I finished grad school at UF, but even before that I always knew I wanted to settle down in Boston. When I took my current job, a big reason was to get me from Florida back to Massachusetts. My family and closest friends knew I considered it a stepping stone to get to my ultimate goal of doing PR for a Boston-area hospital.

My dream has finally come true. I will be doing media relations for a large Boston cancer hospital and their official charity. I started interviewing for the position in May, and accepted an offer on Wednesday. I start July 15, which means my last day at my current job will be July 10 so I can have a few days to wrap up my life in western Massachusetts, move and settle in.

I still haven't found a place to live yet. It was such a crazy week that by this weekend, I was physically and emotionally exhausted. I have spent hours looking online, calling and emailing about possible apartments, and even Skyping with a potential roommate. I'm going to be in the city this Saturday to try on bridesmaid dresses for Julia's wedding, but I have crack of dawn and late afternoon appointments to see a few places. One is a room in a 2br, 1ba apartment in a Mission Hill house with a girl in her mid 20s. The other is a room in 3br, 1.5ba condo in Woburn (yes, where my best friend Julia lives - right around the corner actually!) with a professional male in his early 30s. And then there's a potential room in a 5ba, 2ba apartment in Brighton. One of the roommates is a friend of a friend, but four girls is a lot of estrogen. I think Rags needs somewhere really mellow and quiet, because that's what we had when we lived alone in Florida and he was so well-behaved. His crankiness is either due to his age (he's almost 8) or - the more likely culprit - living with two male adults and another dog, so he really never has any personal space or down time. I think one roommate would be ideal, and no other pets.

Actually, living alone would be ideal but since I am working for a nonprofit and have not much in the way of savings, a roommate is a must at first. I'd also rather bunk up with someone before signing away my life on a year's lease when I may hate the person, the neighborhood, etc.

Julia has extended "my bedroom" to me in the event that July 15 arrives and I still don't have a place to live. Or if I find a place that isn't immediately available. The Mission Hill apartment is available before I am (July 1) and the Woburn condo is available Aug. 1, so either of those would work out.

Money was actually the only thing that caused me to hesitate on accepting the offer right away. I negotiated my salary for the first time and am happy with the offer, but then I started thinking about rent and buying a new wardrobe (they wear suits to work every day, it's business casual at the college until summer and then it's just summer casual - I don't own suits) and I started to freak out. My best guy friend Sean said, "You'd be doing something you enjoy and you'd be near people you like to spend time with, and I think that adds immeasurably to your happiness." He was right. At that point, my mind was made up.

It's no secret to most that I have been miserable at my job. I like my officemates, but people outside of our department are downright nasty. Working in higher education without a doctorate often means being looked down upon, and for people with as much experience as we have, that's just not OK. I have been made to cry in meetings, referred to as a line item on someone's budget, been told I have no experience, been embarrassed by a faculty member in front of a reporter for no reason other than said faculty member's power trip...it's just been too much. And also, I miss healthcare. Working in sports made me sure I didn't want to work in sports. Working in higher ed made me sure I don't want to work in higher ed. Working in an agency made me sure I didn't want to work in an agency. I have yet to deal with the corporate bs, but I'm pretty sure I wouldn't like it. Healthcare is where I'm meant to be.

I also don't love western Massachusetts. Nor do I love admitting that at 28, I live with my dad and brother. In my defense, I had two weeks to quit my job and move from Florida to Massachusetts to start my current job, so of course I just moved back home. And then, when I was ready to get my own place, I was scheduled for major surgery that could have very well left me on disability from work for six months or longer, and even if it didn't, I was going to need round-the-clock care for a week or two while recovering. So I stayed. And then I started seriously applying for jobs in Boston and knew it would be silly to move out during that process when I could be saving.

Except it all happened much more quickly than I was expecting and I didn't really get to save. Four weeks from today, I will be at my first day at my new job. My new office is not in the hospital (boo), but it's directly across the street from the Yawkey Way entrance to Fenway (um, awesome!).

I'm trying to be positive today, so I'll save my recent car troubles for another post, and also until I know how much the repairs are going to set me back. Because I don't want to think about until I have to.

Downward Dog with Decompressed Orbits

Today was another frustrating day at work. Then, when I got home, I had several emails letting me know I sent out a press release with a typo. I was exhausted and had the worst eye pain this morning. I debated calling in, but decided I could manage a few hours. So it doesn't really surprise me that I made a big mistake. Except when I realized I had copied and pasted the information from a co-worker, and he was the one who made the typo. That doesn't excuse my error - I still should have checked and rechecked, but today was not my day. Ugh. I almost feel bad, but then I don't, because I'm doing my best and people make mistakes.

I got a flu shot this evening. It was free from the town but I had to go to the senior center to get it. When I walked in, I was handed a piece of paper with "46" on it. I looked around and saw a bunch of old people sitting on couches and in armchairs. Forty-five of them to be exact. Once my vision cleared, I realized I wasn't the only person younger than 65, but I was definitely the youngest minus the children there with their parents. Whatever. It was for a flu shot. For free. My number was accurate, because about 46 minutes later, I was walking out protected from influenza.

I decided to go to yoga tonight. It was a gentle kripalu (like hatha) class with the owner of the studio. I adore her, and I think I'm close in age to her daughter, so we always have this moment when we see each other. The last time I went was exactly a month ago when I fell down the stairs and broke my tailbone in two places, but didn't realize it, so I went to yoga anyway. Even tonight, my butt hurt so bad when I did boat pose. I think my tailbone benefited from me being in bed for two weeks straight, but now it's time to start getting my strength and endurance back. I worried my eyes would bother me, but I took my glasses off and tried not to think about it, and it worked! I got some tissue dust in my eye so I kept rubbing it for the first few minutes, but eventually it worked itself out and I had a very good 75 minutes of peace, stretching, and relaxation. Afterward, Sheila came over and complimented me on my practice. I surprised myself. I thought I would be rusty about a month without yoga, but it's like riding a bike, but even easier to pick up where you left off. I showed Sheila what is left of my bruises (tiny pink lines) and answered her questions about thyroid eye disease and my surgery. She knew about my Graves, but we had never talked about my eyes before. It's funny, anyone who knows about Graves or TED, or is in the health care profession, would take one look at me and know I had Graves. Everyone else who didn't know me before TED would just think I had big eyes. So who knows what Sheila knew or thought, but she seemed happy to see me and I was so happy to be back in the studio.

Tomorrow I can start wearing my contacts again, but I don't really want to fight with my eyes in the morning before work, so I probably won't try until after work or even over the weekend. It's been a long time since my eyes weren't irritated by the TED, and I don't want to get discouraged in case they are still irritated from the surgery. My corneas themselves don't hurt, but I also have barely touched my eyes except to do the massaging of my lower lids and to put ice on them, so who knows how they'll react to foreign objects. Juls is looking into Lasik later this month, and it's something I'd like to have a consultation on eventually, too.

Kelly and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

I forgot to eat breakfast this morning. This is what happens when I've been out of a routine for two weeks. I have been eating breakfast at home for two weeks, but usually I eat breakfast at work on weekdays. If I eat before work, I'm starving already by the time I get to my desk, so normally I heat up some oatmeal in the office or stop and get a bagel on the way. Today, I packed myself oatmeal and even remembered a spoon and a bowl, but somehow never remembered to heat it up or eat it. I also brought a mug of coffee to work, but forgot I straw so I walked over to the Starbucks in the dining hall to steal a straw, and I guess the coffee suppressed my appetite enough that I didn't realize how hungry I was until my stomach started growling around 9:30. Finally at 10:30 I grabbed my yogurt from the fridge and when I went to get my spoon from my lunch bag, I saw the oatmeal and realized why I was so hungry. I'm hopeless...

I think I was distracted by a slight crisis at work. I rushed to make sure I got a bunch of huge projects done before I left on the Monday before my surgery, and by huge, I mean literally huge. Billboard huge. Not only did the printing company screw up, but so did the billboard company. And no one bothered to call or email me to let me know, let alone try to contact someone else in the office. So here it is, 10 days in the month, and our billboards from September are still up, instead of the new ones for October that we paid a pretty penny for. Lovely. Fortunately, I did nothing wrong and have emails to prove it, but it's still frustrating to return to 2,379 issues when I'm not 100% yet.

When I got home from work, I spent like 10 minutes staring at the mirror. For some reason, I'm not happy with my eyes today. They look too close together. My face is fat, from both swelling, the steroids, and just being overweight. I guess I was expecting a miracle in the form of looking exactly the way I did before Graves. Except I was like 30 pounds lighter and tanner and younger. And my left eye looks bigger now, when for the last two years, I've been getting used to my right eye being bigger. I think I'm just having a Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day (for no reason) and I'm being hard on myself. I think Drs. C and S would cry if they knew I was bashing their hard work, but something just doesn't look right today. Then again, I'm dizzy as all get-out, so maybe I'm not seeing correctly. I still can't wear makeup, and my eyelashes are actually really obnoxiously long but also blond, so when I wear mascara, it completely changes the way my eyes look. I think they look much better with mascara, but who knows if that'll still be the case. I never worried much about mascara before Graves.

So what did I eat for lunch? McDonalds. I was starving and cranky and just wanted to be able to get home and take a nap. I'm going to call my primary care doctor and see about getting in to see a nutritionist or dietitian. I know what to eat and what not to eat, but there's something in my head telling me I deserve ice cream or something greasy. I don't have the funds to reward myself with nice things so I reward myself with food, and I've never been that like until the past year or so.

After my afternoon-nap-turned-evening-coma, I realized someone put my laundry in the dryer. With a dryer sheet. Half my things I either don't dry in the dryer, and even if I do, I never use dryer sheets anymore. Not only do they ruin the dryer, they ruin your clothes. And you shouldn't use fabric softener/dryer sheets on towels, otherwise your towels won't be as absorbent. So that annoyed me. It shouldn't have been that big of a deal, but when you add it to the rest of my  Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day, it really set me off.

Fortunately, my Junior League conference call was without incident. As recording secretary, I take the minutes, so I have to try and stay focused, which is so hard on a conference call when the interwebs is calling my name. It lasted 45 minutes and I was so tired. So tired that I am going to bed "early" tonight. I don't know what it is, but I've had a hard time going to be "on time" this week. Tonight will not be an issue.