Transition
I once had a real job.
That's usually the phrase I use when someone gets curious about my presence here. "Well, yes, I had a real job..." Or it comes up when commiserating about certain things, like desks and fluorescent lighting.
In any case, I genuinely don't know why I feel the need to make that designation.
Is it because I like this job better?
It used to be that I'd drag myself out of bed by seven so that I could be at work by eight. Sit at a desk most days, spend some chunk of each day in at least one meeting, eat lunch in the company lunchroom, wear the business casual, deal with the bureaucracy. [I first mistyped that as "bureaucrazy." Ain't that the truth.] There were reports to be written, paper trails to follow, codes to be consulted. Timesheets were used to designate how much time I spent on specific projects and account for most of my week. Usually.
Now, I drag myself out of bed sometime between 4:00 and 7:00, depending on the week. During the summer, I'm generally in by seven. On my feet most days, spending absolutely no time in meetings but plenty of time hashing out schedules with deans or my boss. I wear a camp shirt and ... whatever is comfortable that day, be it jeans and tennis shoes or a skirt and Keens. There are emails to send, bills to process, schedules to balance. My timesheet is increasingly difficult because some days I genuinely don't know what's considered work and what's not.
It used to be that I'd leave the office and generally didn't do much from home. Now I leave work and the phone still rings, the emails are still answerable, and at any point a summer staffer could call over and ask for help, if something comes up.
My job now is generally more work than my "real" job was.
And there are certainly days where I miss having energy when I get home. (I especially miss dance classes...) But the work itself? I get to take care of one of my very favorite places. I haven't doubted my place in the world since I got here, and that's ... well, new. And awesome.
So I guess maybe this fake job is acceptable. Even if I'm practically asleep by 9:00 most evenings.
Or if I spent twelve hours corralling campers and wedding guests.
Tomorrow should be interesting.
That's usually the phrase I use when someone gets curious about my presence here. "Well, yes, I had a real job..." Or it comes up when commiserating about certain things, like desks and fluorescent lighting.
In any case, I genuinely don't know why I feel the need to make that designation.
Is it because I like this job better?
It used to be that I'd drag myself out of bed by seven so that I could be at work by eight. Sit at a desk most days, spend some chunk of each day in at least one meeting, eat lunch in the company lunchroom, wear the business casual, deal with the bureaucracy. [I first mistyped that as "bureaucrazy." Ain't that the truth.] There were reports to be written, paper trails to follow, codes to be consulted. Timesheets were used to designate how much time I spent on specific projects and account for most of my week. Usually.
Now, I drag myself out of bed sometime between 4:00 and 7:00, depending on the week. During the summer, I'm generally in by seven. On my feet most days, spending absolutely no time in meetings but plenty of time hashing out schedules with deans or my boss. I wear a camp shirt and ... whatever is comfortable that day, be it jeans and tennis shoes or a skirt and Keens. There are emails to send, bills to process, schedules to balance. My timesheet is increasingly difficult because some days I genuinely don't know what's considered work and what's not.
It used to be that I'd leave the office and generally didn't do much from home. Now I leave work and the phone still rings, the emails are still answerable, and at any point a summer staffer could call over and ask for help, if something comes up.
My job now is generally more work than my "real" job was.
And there are certainly days where I miss having energy when I get home. (I especially miss dance classes...) But the work itself? I get to take care of one of my very favorite places. I haven't doubted my place in the world since I got here, and that's ... well, new. And awesome.
So I guess maybe this fake job is acceptable. Even if I'm practically asleep by 9:00 most evenings.
Or if I spent twelve hours corralling campers and wedding guests.
Tomorrow should be interesting.
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