Once upon a time, there was a girl who struck out into the world and gave love a chance.  For once, she allowed herself to believe in something that was too good to be true, too much like the storybooks, too much like a romantic comedy you watch when you want to believe in the good things of the world.  She set out on a journey so epic and adventurous and lovely stupid as all get out.  All in the name of seeing if this was love.  If this was right.  If this was destiny and truth and everything she'd ever dreamed of as a child.

 

The ending of the story isn't so important today.  Today what seems to matter most is this - I wonder where that girl went.

 

Who was she in the first place?  I'd never seen her before, and I don't think I've seen her since.  She was there for a moment - just a few, short years, really - and then she was gone.  There are days that I mourn her passing.  Part of me hopes she'll come back to this place she left, looking to start on a new adventure with courage and hope.  I wonder, though, if she is truly dead.  If the light inside of her has been extinguished, there would be little hopefulness left to strike out into the world of love.

 

She was an interesting character.  She offered forgiveness and even allowed trust.  But little by little, she seemed to slip away.  Perhaps it was circumstances - moments when reality would swirl back in and make her realize just how hard it is keep an open trust alive through the tough times.  When promises aren't quite kept like you'd hoped.  When you can't look someone in the eye and see the truth.  When you really have to trust in the wind - a thing that you can only feel but you can't see or touch.

 

I think she realized it wasn't an easy place to be - right here.  So she very calmly and very quietly backed up her things over a series of months.  It took a while.  Maybe a couple of trips to move all of that hope and optimism out of her space.  But after all of her belongings were gone, she didn't have much of a reason to stay.  I think she stood there for a moment in the doorway, looking into the empty room which had once been so bright and beautiful during her stay.  She'd taken good care of the place during her stay, so nothing looked damaged or broken or dirty after she moved.  But it looked barren.  Still.  Quiet.

I imagine she stood there for a long while, wondering where time had gone, wondering how she'd outgrown her surroundings.  When did it no longer feel like home?  What had caused the change, the shift?  But it was time to move on.  Time to strike out again and find that hope and that faith that no longer lived in this place.

 

She shut the door behind her without another glance.

 

And I haven't seen her since.
 
There are days I hope she'll return to this place, when she'll find a new way to redecorate what were once bold and beautiful quarters.  But part of me fears that when she shut that door behind her, she failed to pick up her keys off of the hook, and that door locked behind her. 

 

Even if she did come back, she couldn't get in.

My day in a nutsheel.  A really big nutsheel with lots of jagged parts to crack your teeth on when you try to open it.

 

Overworked.  Tired of being called on for everything.

 

Can't find a file?  Go ask Shada.  Need to set up a laptop and project for a meeting?  Go ask Shada.  Need to find a laptop despite the fact that they're located in the closet next to you and you're the only person in the office with a key to said closet?  Gee, go ask Shada.

 

Can't fill in at the front desk for the receptionist's breaks?  Go ask Shada.  Receptionist needs to pee, and it's not an official break?  Forget about calling your back-up.  I think you should go ask Shada.

 

Need information collected from various offices in the midwest and then compiled into one spreadsheet?  Go ask Shada.  Need to bug said various office numerous times a day because grown adults don't know how to follow deadlines to turn in information needed?  Go tell Shada, and she'll go ask other people while they're being asses.  Need this done for one project?  Great!  Go ask Shada.  Got another project that's similar with different information?  Ask Shada again.  She can handle two.  How about three?  Sure, ask Shada.  Why not?  She's already talking to what feels like half of the market leaders in the Midwest, so why the hell not?

 

Now, do you have typing changes you need made?  Of course, go ask Shada.  A letter to be finalized and mailed?  Ask Shada.  A PowerPoint presentation you want reformatted?  That's AA stuff - by all means, ask Shada!

 

But also if there's a benefit calcuation that needs to be rushed, despite the fact that Shada didn't go to school for actuarial science so she can calculate people's retirement pension?  Ha!  Who needs a degree in actuarial science?  Go fucking ask Shada.  If you've got a project that's far beyond her knowledge and skills because she was never trained to do it - hell, Shada's a miracle worker, so go ask her.  Sure, it might come back to you in the end, but it's okay to give it to her to mull over and cry over for about 5 hours before she realizes she can't cram 4 years of study into 4 hours of study material on the job with no educational background in the subject.  Forget it.  Just ask Shada.

 

Do you need to store your files somewhere else other than your own cube?  Go put them in Shada's cube.  She won't mind.  Oh, and when you need to get in there to get a file?  Just walk behind her chair and open up her drawers to her own file cabinet without warning.  That's okay.  She's cool with it.  You have stuff that needs filed?  Just put it on Shada's desk in one of the three ever-growing piles that you just laugh and scoff at and wonder why they get so high.  Don't bother to ask her why.  Just make a funny comment.  She'll make a comment about filing being like playing Jenga, and then you'll laugh and walk away.

 

Oh, and Shada's food?  You don't have to ask her for that, too.  Everyone knows she keeps it in her top drawer, and she shares with you when you ask, right?  So when you don't ask the concept should still apply?  She won't miss two packets of peanut butter crackers - just leave her the last one, and it'll be okay.  And part of her loaf of bread?  She'll never notice that.  Or a sleeve of crackers?  Yeah, that's okay, too.  Oh, you mention it to her a week or so after you took the item, that might be okay.  Shada's cool with it all, right?  Sure.  Just ask Shada.

 

So, you want to ask me if I'm okay.  Or you want to ask me if there's anything wrong. 

 

"What's up?" 

"How's life?"

"How are you?"

 

I am fucking irritated.  Strung-out to the point of homicidal irritated - okay, not that far irritated.  But close to that irritated.  I am tired.  I am restless.  I am tired of working my ass off for people who don't give a shit what happens to me nor do they care what they're putting me through when they ask me to do something.  They see only their request - not the requests of the other 30-40 people who are asking me for things.

 

If one person asks, I have no problem.  I am more than willing to help people.  It's my job.  It's what I do.  I assist with administrative issues and tasks.  That's my title - administrative assistant.  I'm your personal secretary despite the fact that I work for another 40 people in the office aside from you. 

 

So you know what?  Ask me.  I have no problem.  But please don't always expect it to happen lickety-split.  Have a nice attitude.  Be positive about things.  Don't call files "stupid" because you can't find them.  If you can't find them, then that's your problem because I don't have them.  You're th eone who holds onto things and let's them pile up at your desk, and then you give them to me to straighten out because you've already fucked 'em up.

 

If you want food, holy cow, haul off and ask me!  Or go buy your own damn bread!  Seriously, people.  If you tell me, I'll have no problem with it.  If I come back the next day and there's stuff missing, what am I to expect?  Huh?  People are getting into my cube?  They're taking my stuff?  All of my personal belongings are at risk?  You're coming into my personal area to get something without my personal knowledge.  If I did that to you, you'd have a fit.  So please remember the golden rule and treat me as you'd like me to treat you.

 

I thought of a great House line today for a possible fanfic - "If you treat people like ass, people'll treat you like ass." 

 

Everybody pass around the Vicodin bottle and take a hit.  It's gonna be a long day.