ugggggh

So tired and unprepared for the conference I’m presenting at tomorrow. Got into Arlington Heights today with the dog. Things went shockingly well among all the dogs, but of course you can’t turn your back or, like, sit down for ten seconds. And of course in the last week I have not managed to finish polishing my paper or make my power point. So I am doing that….now. Conference is in Chicago; public transport takes two hours and requires like four switches, so i’m just driving….but not real excited about that (or paying for 12 hours of parking) either. I really like conferences, and I actually especially really like *this* conference. I was very specific about submitting a proposal and making sure I made it to this one. But now……I just. don’t. feel. like. it. (last night I had a dream that I got stuck somewhere in Chicago with like a gang or something and missed my presentation slot, and the worst part was that they had a copy of my paper and someone else read it and it was horrible.) Then I woke up in a panic that the conference was really today and not tomorrow and that I was in Ypsi when I should be in Chicago. That wasn’t true either. Anyway. 24 hours from now it will be over. Well, by “it,” I mean my presentation. I’ll still have half a day of conference left, and that one will involve driving into the city during Monday rush hour! I’ll have to leave at like 6 a.m. Sweet.

when wallflowers reproduce

Let me preface this by saying that I am nowhere near feeling ready to have kids. I hope I will be, someday, but I feel like someday is still some indeterminate number of years away (5? 7? 3? Surely not 3!?). Nevertheless, this blog post resonated with me. This is kind of what I fear/expect/anticipate my life as mom of an infant would be (which is part of my anxiety about taking the leap into that stage of life, I think). Simultaneously wanting to be friends with but also hating all the other moms, incapable of making new friends, and having no access to my old ones, and trapped in some kind of weird career limbo. But hey, the baby is congenial!)

http://www.babble.com/mom/relationships/baby-group-mom-friends/

awkward

Something that is awkward:

Helping your former boss interview to fill your former position with somebody better than you.

Now, all in all this is not a bad situation. I left this position of my own free will, to move into something that I am very excited about and probably better suited for. So I am no way being screwed in the way so many have been, where they get stuck training their replacement who is “better” only in the sense that they will accept half the pay. I am not at all complaining about my situation, and indeed have been extremely lucky. Also, I get along with this supervisor, and I know he appreciates my work and, had I not left, we probably would have continued along, status-quo-wise, for quite some time. So again, no legitimate complaints from me.

Nevertheless. It is a strange feeling to have it emphasized over and over and over again throughout this process that I was chosen for the job out of desperation in a moment of need, I don’t really have the skills he wants to see in this position, he wants to find somebody who can be more help to him that I was in certain areas, etc. I’m not deluded; he and I are in agreement that I don’t have the skills he claims he is looking for. And that they would, indeed, be valuable to have around. And I know my work here has been appreciated.

Nevertheless, it stings, a bit. A push to keep learning and growing, I suppose.

becky is a barbie girl, in a barbie world

My co-worker just started singing this song. I don’t think I’ve heard it in like ten years. In fact, the reason he had to sing it, is that the people he was talking to didn’t know what it was when he mentioned it to them.

He brought it up because he was referencing a lawsuit sparked by that song, when Mattel decided to sue the band that wrote it.

And *this* came up because, oh yeah, hey, my workplace got sued yesterday.

Becky: Wait, what?

I can overhear my co-worker (who used to be my supervisor, and then wasn’t, and now is again) talking to someone else about a grant application that they’re working on. She asked me to read their draft like a month or two ago and I did and gave her feedback on it. I had one major concern/criticism of the project, and when I tried to express it to her, she seemed like she didn’t really get or agree with what I was trying to express.

Now, she is saying my exact thing to the other people on the grant, saying that she wanted to talk to them about making this change!

This is one of those weird situations that I don’t have enough experience or polish to respond to very well yet. My very first instinct is like, “hey! wtf? that was my idea! Why is she passing it off as hers?” And I get all riled up.

But that’s not quite right, is it? I mean, it would be one thing if this was like a presentation and she claimed my work as her own. But that’s not what happened. She is working on a project. I am not involved in this project at all. She asked for my help/feedback, and I offered it. She clearly chewed on it for awhile, processed it in her own way, decided she agreed, and presented the change to her teammates.

So this was a successful transaction, right? I helped her. I made the work of our office better. I didn’t lose anything, because I have nothing to do with this project. I didn’t really expect her to, like, cite me in her private conversation with her colleague (which I happened to overhear). Maybe someone else who happened to overhear this would have immediately thought, “hey, sweet! I was right! They’re using my idea!”

So why do I feel weird about it? I’m not sure, but I’m not going to fret about it. I’m still learning every day how to trust my gut and be appropriately assertive in the workplace….

Becky lives in the Dark Ages

So, I don’t have a camera phone. But I really, really need one, to document hilarious everyday moments, just like Kelsey did.

Yesterday, in particular, I went to pick up the car after work when Sam went to a soccer game, and when I got to the car, there was a two foot long cucumber. Seatbelted into the passenger seat.

I ❤ Sam.

Someone in his office had brought in extra produce from their garden and he told me he was going to bring home a cucumber. But I was not expecting it to be waiting for me like a safety-conscious stalker in the car when I got there. I laughed the whole way home (because, of course, I left it there and saw it again every time I turned my head). And I learned later that he laughed all the way to soccer thinking about me laughing when I found it.

Laughter is good.

When I went home, I even left the cucumber in the car and went to get my camera, but the batteries were dead and I couldn’t find any new ones. And I can’t re-enact the scene because we already ate the cucumber. I’ll just have to remember it forever.

Becky follows the leader

So, I signed up to take this workshop tomorrow morning on “how to be a leader when you’re not actually in charge,” or something like that. It gets me out of the office for three hours tomorrow morning, which many people might think of as an incentive, but I actually find kind of stressful. But it will be a good change of pace, opportunity to meet new people in the library and, with any luck, learn some new skills that will help me be more effective at my job.

But then this morning I got this message:

Good morning! I am looking forward to your participation in tomorrow’s workshop! I just wanted to send you a quick note about a few things.

* We will be moving around, so please wear comfortable clothing and shoes

* We will be taking at least one break – unfortunately we don’t have funding for snacks, but fortunately, we’ll be right next to Berts, so…..

* Come with an open mind, and ready to have some fun!

So. Let’s review. I need to have an open mind and comfortable shoes? I smell group games. Noooooooooooooooo!

And I won’t even get free coffee.

Becky discovers a direct correlation….

….between the number of extra hours she spends at work, and the units of grouchy malaise coursing through her bloodstream.

Actually, it’s more like an exponential relationship. Parabolic!

Becky counts how many readers….

Another email to a list serv I follow today:

Sorry to bother you, but I am looking to cite a source for the rough number of
readers each copy of a mid-nineteenth century work of literature would be
expected to pass to in the same household.

I am sure I have read somewhere that the figure is 5, but cannot seem to
trace this source.

Many thanks,

_____

Isn’t this kind of odd? How could you know the answer to this? I would assume the answer would be, “everyone in the household who can read.” And, further, probably anyone in the household who can’t read, since reading aloud might have been a way to pass the time. There might be some breakdown along gender lines (perhaps men weren’t reading the Gothic novels aimed at women in that time period) or age (what were children allowed to read? And do we know they weren’t sneaking a peek at the forbidden fruit? Surely, of course, they were!). And if books were read aloud as entertainment, then the work would have been passed outside of the household, too, maybe, to friends and neighbors who would be visiting.

Do listeners count as readers, in the context of this question? I can’t imagine how a number like “five” could even be arrived at (unless that’s just the average family size).

Becky tastes sweet, sweet relief

So, there’s this one journal editor who is often a thorn in my side. I mean that in the nicest way possible. She cares deeply about her journal, and wants everything to be just so. It’s actually a really cool journal, and because she cares so much about it, it has really interesting content and looks really, really beautiful. (I realize these are lame descriptions, but I’m being deliberately vague here because I would like to keep this blog from becoming Google-associated with the publications I work on).

But, this means that she always has tons of questions, special requests, etc. An email from her usually makes my heart sink, or at least start beating a little faster (part of this is definitely a pavlovian response to her after the incredibly stressful, upsetting launch of her journal just about a year ago–a story for another day).

Anyway, last week she wrote to ask my advice about an author’s special request–they wanted to include in the agreement they sign with the journal that at any time, they could request that any content from their article (in particular, photographs) be removed from the journal. I wrote kind of a long reply explaining why that’s not a good idea, and also slipped in there that our programmers didn’t want to accommodate a special request she made like two months ago (yeah, that was my fault for not dealing with it earlier).

She wrote back late that night, so when I got in to work Friday morning last week, I saw the message from her. I had lots to do that day, and assumed that her message would require another long complicated response. Also I just didn’t want to deal with it. So I didn’t even read it (that is sort of the lowest of the low, in my job, ignoring messages from people who it’s your job to communicate with. I always feel very guilty but sometimes it feels like the only way to preserve my sanity).

Anyway, this morning I knew I had to deal with it, so I ripped off the band-aid and at 8:30 a.m. on a Monday, opened her message. and all it said was:

“Thanks, Becky, this is very helpful. Have a good weekend!”

Phew.