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Sunday, June 30, 2002
Little Girl Lost

It's Sunday night and somehow I've managed to do the things I needed to do this week. Not all of them, mind you, the bathroom still needs to be cleaned and thank you notes still need to be written and e-mails must be replied to and laundry is still to be washed dried and folded, but the big stuff? It's all done and for the first time in a very long time, I face a Sunday evening where Monday brings more work. Or the promise of work.

One of my interviews produced a job offer.

Lucky for me, it's at the company I wanted to be with all along and I get to be ExecuChick. For the most part though, the victory feels hollow and I haven't the energy to enter the salary negotiations tomorrow morning with any enthusiasm or conviction. In fact, I'm feeling panicky, as though they'll rescind their offer. "So sorry, we've changed our minds. You're not what we're looking for after all."

Being at this place, no matter what they are paying, will be good for me. A unique company with a nurturing environment, coupled with a challenging position is exactly what I need right now. Add to that my complete lack of desire for continuing a job hunt in a depressed market and they've got themselves a candidate who will work for room, board and pocket money if you ask her to. I do have a lackluster speech and some salary research prepared but I fear I will fold under the weakest of arguments simply because I'm tired, worn out, all used up. I just don't have anything left.

In a related vein, being in Florida without family or friends right now has been a terrifically isolating experience. I'm one of those people who tends to withdraw during times of crisis, but in the past, I've been physically located near people who had a way of weaseling into my space for my own good--even if at first, I didn't want them to. Now, however, the distance between me and my mother, my brother, my family, my friends seems an insurmountable obstacle. Each day I make a plan to force myself to call one of my sister-in-laws, or one of my friends in CT or Chicago, but I manage not to do it. Time slips away from me, it becomes too late and I promise myself again. Tomorrow. Tomorrow I'll call.

It is not lost on me that this is exactly how my father handled crisis. Withdraw. Don't bother anyone. Get through it. Move on. 

Dad at 17
Listen to his favorite song