Showing posts with label stress. Show all posts
Showing posts with label stress. Show all posts

Monday, October 29, 2012

I Did It!

I did it, ReaderFriends!

I survived last week.

Against all odds (and my own suspicions...), I made it through the week, was able to enjoy my weekend, and then came out the other side unscathed.

You may remember that I was hearkening back to my pre-vacation stressmonkey self, with all that I needed to get done. But I finished it, and had a wonderful time for all the stress I had inflicted upon myself.

Turns out that the two cloaks I spent Wednesday putting together weren't needed at all, because it was summertime-warm in our little slice of outdoors...*1

Turns out that the costume pieces I wrangled from a wonderful, giving volunteer made the choreographer turn up her nose in disdain...*2

Turns out that wearing a tutu doesn't automatically mean that everyone at the Halloween party will be sober enough to understand that you're a Batman ballerina...*3

But it also turns out that Boyfriends of Amazingness are just happy to have you standing beside them at a Halloween party, a medieval tournament or a dance rehearsal. The stress doesn't really matter.

So today I will get through my workday, get my butt home and sit lazily on the couch with my snugglemonkey stuffy and last night's brownies. I will relish the sound of the rain pattering on the windowpane and the wind whistling through the neighborhood. I will stock up my candles and prepare to bravely handle lost power all by myself*4. And I will relax.

*1 Of course I got the first sunburn of the season on the last Saturday of October. Makes perfect sense.

*2 It's sorted now... but still. There's a principle here. Clear communication is a whole Thing to me.

*3 Costume Jealousy is totally worthwhile here.

*4 Boyfriend of Amazingness has been exiled to the next state south for the duration of the hurricane. It's really quite fantastic... Grumblesnark.

NOTE:

ReaderFriends, please be safe. If you live on the East Coast please exercize caution first and foremost. Stay calm, don't panic and face each stage of this adventure rationally. The storm will be over before you know it.
Important information:
http://www.foxnews.com/health/2012/10/29/how-to-properly-prepare-for-hurricane-sandy/

http://www.cbsnews.com/8301-204_162-57541983/are-you-prepared-for-hurricane-sandy-cdc-has-tips/

Tuesday, September 18, 2012

My One Cent

I've been thinking about this day for months!

That's right... months!!

(No, goofball. I didn't sit down and plan out months ago that I would be excited on a Tuesday in September just for the hell of it. I have a reason. You just have to sit tight and find out what it is with the rest of the Everyones.)

This blog post that you're reading....

Yes, this very post right here...

THIS BLOG POST IS THE 100th POST THAT I HAVE POSTED!

How incredible is that?!

I have, over the year-and-some-undetermined-number-of-months-that-I-really-don't-feel-like-counting, been excited to entertain and amaze you with the stories of my Shenanigans. The exciting characters and plot lines here are just too juicy to make up - It's wonderful to have this safe space here with you to share these little tidbits and hopefully a smile or two along the way.

So how did I celebrate this momentous occasion, you ask?

(As well you should ask. It's a momentous occasion indeed, and deserves celebrating.)

This morning, I shipped Boyfriend of Amazingness off for an overnight work 'do. But not before making sure he was well and thoroughly infected with some sort of jungle plague. Sniffles? Check. Cough? Check. Wheeze? Super check. Then I just had to wake him up early and push him out the door.**1

I spent most of the morning frantically trying to get caught up on projects.

When I wasn't frantically trying to get caught up on projects, I was thundering around my cubby with steam pouring out of my ears.

See, this wasn't a particularly momentous occasion for the Coworkers-From-A-Former-Life. So they thought perhaps today would be as good a day as any to subject my hair to third-degree brainburns, instead of bringing me cuppycakes.

Which prompts me to end this blog post the way this whole Blog idea began:

Public Service Announcement 
to Users of the "Carbon Copy" Feature On E-mails

Thank you for your efforts to completely undermine an entire team of hard workers with your carbon-copied shenanigans. Not only did you succeed in involving four additional people on an e-mail that required only three from the very beginning, but you did so with such zest and authority that you managed to alienate two of the (arguably) kindest individuals in the entire building. With that, you have demoted yourself quite thoroughly to the bottom of my proverbial totem pole. Beware: If you sniff while you're down there you'll probably pick up an earthworm.

Upon taking charge, you promptly decided that the previously involved individuals must have spent the past week-and-a-half munching on bonbons and enjoying adorable YouTube videos of How To Wrap Your Cat for Christmas.**1 I assure you that this wasn't the case. I do thank you, though, for being there to tell us each step we needed to take - without a premonition of your firm and understanding guidance, we would never have gone through exactly the same steps a week prior, and would have most certainly needed to ask for additional assistance today.

Oh, wait.

RaYD,
Sunny

**1 Shoutout, Mom. I love you! Thank you for making the ungiggly days more giggly with your YouTube finds.

Also: Shoutout to Boyfriend of Amazingness, who won't see this because he thinks he hears all the stories fresh from the Sunny's mouth. Which isn't wrong. But still. Sometimes my clever phrasing is more clever in writing. So here's to you, my wonderfully patient sounding board. Thank you for listening while I sit on the couch and steam during your videogames and your favorite sitcoms. And thank you for sharing your own horror stories, too, so I know that I'm not on this little adventure through occasional malcontent alone.

Wednesday, July 25, 2012

Not Happening

I thought I could keep blogging through this week, right up to Friday morning when I leave for my two week off-the-grid vacation.

It's SO not happening.

Pre-vacation stress monkeys don't observe their surroundings well... Much less make witty comments on daily happenings. They mostly just make vowel sounds and flail their arms about wildly.

Like this. I look exactly like this.
<photo credit: www.orientaltherapy.org>

I'll be back August 14, my ReaderFriends!

Keep smiling, and keep shining!

<3,
Sunny

Thursday, December 1, 2011

Load 'Em Up...

So... I guess we're moving.

(Understatement. I've known we were moving since June. It's just
now that it's real.)

"Why is it only real now?" you ask?

Good question. You wouldn't know if you hadn't been here. And you weren't here (because there is almost certainly not anyone loitering under my desk), so I should tell you.
My awfice has been taken over my boxes. 

And when I say my awfice, I don't mean just my little cube-shaped slice of professional world heaven... I mean the *whole damned floor.* 


And the other floor in this building that we occupy. 


And our satellite building two miles away. 


And possibly the moon.


There are boxes *everywhere*.


Which wouldn't be so bad, I suppose. Right now they're empty, and are standing around in intimidating piles lurking in corners and empty cubicles. 


It's not the lurking boxes that bothers me, though. I'm used to them. Boyfriend of Amazingness works for a company that handles big moves, so he has some castoffs that we store things in. They're really cool - they're these huge plastic bins with interlocking plastic lids that pop right in and keep all your stuff safe and cozy inside. Like my shoes.


No, the crates themselves aren't scary at all.


What intimidates me is that they are all going to be full.


Of stuff.


In a week.


Which is terrifying.


I suppose I would be able to handle it better if I knew that everything would come out okay once we unpacked. But I don't know that at all.


In fact, all I know is that I have to load up everything in the Reception area, which includes the mailing stuff and most of our deliverable packaging and even a toolbox. 


And then there are the copy rooms, with their piles of paper and their copying goodness.


And I have to package it all and get it into crates - four high per skid, please: we must be ergonomically conscious! - for the moving company to take away.


A week from tomorrow.


I guess it's the timeline that creates the greatest of my discomfort. I left the office Monday for my stint at our new location with the other employees who already live there. I left at noon on Monday with a smile on my face and an excited gleam in my eye. (Because, let's face it - any time not spent within these confines are well spent moments indeed...) 


And when I came back Tuesday, all hell had broken loose. We suddenly had confirmation that we would indeed be moving out of our current location before Christmas. 


As in, well before Christmas.


As in, less than two weeks from the official announcement.


Tuesday was a day of meetings: Meetings with movers, coordination with employees on site, coordination with superiors off site, and a flurry of phone calls to start the process.


Wednesday I was again slated to go over to the new location. I looked forward to it with even more focus, as my coworkers had become Hell Hounds bent upon one common goal: Bringing me to my inevitable stress-riddled demise before the last crate was packed. 


So, this morning, I came in to these boxes.


Everywhere.


I thought briefly about crawling into one and hiding until the whole mess is over with... But that didn't seem feasible. There are no breathing holes, and my feet might stink.


For now, I have to go coordinate the secure storage guy who just showed up to take away my last four days of work: 


I'm not sad to see them go. Those suckers are heavy.

So I'm forging onward and trying desperately not to lose my mind. Please stay tuned for more moving fun as the next week goes by.

Monday, September 26, 2011

Why Elevators Are Germ Boxes of Doom

I've always been a bit of a germophobe.

Some environments trigger this more than others. For instance, being in a doctor's office makes me acutely aware of just which diseases I have NOT contracted, and makes me wonder whether I will be exposed to H1N1 from the oozing child in the next chair... so I end up tucking my nose into my magazine and covertly sending telepathic messages to the little snot machine** to take their leaking orifices over to the lovely little play corner. Being on an airplane makes me think about what jungle viruses the other passengers might be radiating into our shared air... so I end up burrowing into my blanket and breathing through it for the duration of my flight. Being in a vehicle - especially one of which I am not in control - makes me wonder if the driver has the capacity to poison me with germs through the air ducts under the guise of "turning up the heat to reach you all the way back there."

But the worst has to be the elevator.

Doctors' offices have windows that can be left open. Airplanes have doors that can be left open. Vehicles have both. 

Elevators do not.

Doctors' offices, airplanes and vehicles can create a scenario of moving- with the appropriate allocation of open airway and stout breeze.

 Elevators can not.

Sure, the doors open. For exactly 14 seconds (at least on my Friendly Local Elevator). That is NOT enough time for an air-exchange. That's enough time to cool down the air right inside the doorway, and then trap you inside for a 45-second-long ride of germ-tastic doom.

Well, it should be easy enough, right? Just avoid elevators. 

Except...

I am one of only a handful of people who have a key to the Box Of Doom. Which means that, twice a day, I have to push the little button and wait for the disgustingly long descent, and then step inside to turn the key. Which, inevitably takes 18 seconds (two seconds longer than the breath I can hold when I totally forgot to take a deep, holdable breath before the elevator arrived and have to just gasp in what I can before the doors ding open). Most days I can step in, fumble for my keys, grab the right one and be en-route to the keyhole before I have to kick my foot in front of the door to keep it from closing me in (thereby at least feigning to my brain that there is breathable, un-germy air around should the need for it arise). I can then complete my task of turning on the elevator, escaping it and breathing deeply as I walk myself up the well ventilated stairs.

(Mind you, all of this is happening in a two-story building. The elevator is only for clients, of which we have very few right now because the company is in a "state of transition." So all of this work is pointless, and goes unrecognized until the one day I forget to turn on the elevator and someone has to walk up the stairs before a meeting ((heaven forbid)) and is forced to get some exercise, thereby totally winding them and ruining the meeting because they can't think for the breath they can't catch.)
Unfortunately, this was not the case today.

Today, I was just at the kicking-of-the-foot part when I heard a ding. And then a clanging bell. And then, all hell broke loose.

The ding was a call for the elevator. Easy enough. Once the key is engaged, it will rocket off on its upward trajectory, hurtling towards its destination at a staggering eight-inches-per-second-per-second rate of acceleration. (Yep. Tested and true. It really is faster to climb the stairs.) But it will not rocket upwards before the key turns and the connection is completed and I can escape unscathed. 

Most of the time.

Today, it was really on its game, and I got sucked into its trap.

COURSE OF EVENTS:

Sunny: <pushes button>

Elevator: Oh hai! 
              <opens immediately>

Sunny: Meep! Not ready!
            <gasps quickly to avoid imminent germ-cloud>
            <steps into elevator, fumbles keys, accidentally drops them>
            Crap.
            <reaches to pick up keys while awkwardly kicking leg out to stall closing door>

Elevator: Oh! A game! I love games! I'll make loud crashy noise, too.
               <dings as if being called>

Fire Alarm: What fun! A game! I can make noise, too!
                  <clangs and joins in the fun>

Sunny: <startled> Oh!

Elevator: Have you disembarked, HumanFriend?
               <begins closing doors>

Sunny: No! NoNoNoNoNo!
            <frantic kicking of leg>

Elevator: HumanFriend! You're still here! But I'm about to move! I will save you!! You will be safe!!
              <closes doors more quickly>

Fire Alarm: I'll keep you company!
                  <CLANGCLANGCLANGCLANGCLANG>

So... I was terrified. I was locked in a little box which appeared to be making decisions of its own volition. I was moving upwards on a trajectory I hadn't requested, towards the source of a noise which was startling the ever-loving earwax out of me**1, and I was fairly certain I was going to die.

By the time I reached the first floor, I was in Catastrophic Meltdown. I had run out of air in my lungs, so I had pulled my sweater up over my face and was breathing in through that and out through my right sleeve. My belongings - such as they were - were scattered about the floor, having been dropped in the hubbub. I was curled into the far corner of the elevator with my back pressed to the wall and what I'm sure was a look of terror plastered firmly on my face.

Which must have been a fantastic spectacle for the Fire Alarm Guy that greeted me on the first floor.

"Oh!" he said nonchalantly as the doors opened and he peered inside. "I wouldn'ta used the emergency key if I knew you were about."

** I love children. I really, really do. It's the parents who do nothing to stem the flow of viscous fluids that bother me. Really, honey, is it that hard to help him blow his nose? No, don't drug him, just employ a tissue. 

**1 Loud noises in small spaces lead me down a short path to schizophrenia. I see angry faces in my head, my heart palpitates almost to the point of making me feel ill and my breath comes in these little raspy bursts that make me sound like a PugDog with chronic respiratory disease. So... fire alarm in elevator = Sunny the Wide Eyed Terror-Beast.

Monday, July 25, 2011

Calming Down

Happy Monday, ReaderFriend! (And i'n'it a loooooovely Monday'? Yes... you should laugh. A Mel Brook's quote should *always* receive laughter.)

Yes, my dearhearts, it's Monday. But it's a much nicer Monday than the most recent one. The temperature has dropped into the blissful seventies, making breathing and sleeping and sitting (and even moving) much more comfortable. The sun is shining and there's the slightest hint of a breeze, which is also nice... And today is a short day for me! (Yay!) So I'm sure that's coloring my attitude as well. (Although it was lovely to have the extra hours for a fuller paycheck last week, I must admit that the few hours of time off on Monday afternoons helps me to keep my social life in check. I spend those hours visiting people too far away to drive after-hours to see.)


Last week, I kicked myself into gear after realizing how neglectful I have been of you all. I felt absolutely horrid, I must admit, for having posted only once every week-and-a-half for you. Who am I to withhold from you the nuggets of wisdom, humor and delight gleaned within these taupe walls? Exactly.


As you may remember, the biggest excitement last week was the Ice Cream Social. It was well received, I must admit, even by the complainers of our little group. And there were even some leftovers (which I am now craving... I must resist! I must resist!) so people could have a little snack throughout Friday afternoon. (Unless you are the resident Fatty-Fat-Fatso, who cleaned out three half-gallons over Thursday afternoon, right after the social... Yes, we saw you. Yes, we know it was *only* you. No one else dared touch the stuff until I gave the all-clear. Shame. Big shame. P.S. - Don't you dare complain at me about struggling with your diet anymore. I have no sympathy for you. And it's not just because you finished all the black raspberry... although admittedly that's one of the deciding factors.)


There were other exciting moments throughout the week, though. Like when my partner-in-crime was struck ill and couldn't be in the office for Thursday OR Friday, leaving me all alone to my administrative devices. Which was simultaneously entertaining and infuriating, during moments when I needed to go copy a document onto an employees hard drive just to insert it into an e-mail, because "She always does that for me, and she's not here."


Which leads me to the *most* exciting moment-that-wasn't-the-ice-cream-thing... The arrival of the mail on Tuesday.

Two little boxes marked with a vendor's name were sitting on my desk when I returned from my lunch break on Tuesday. Slightly off-put, I wondered what they were as I tore into the first box and encountered shiny, glittery packaging encasing a little fuzzy-haired man with a grimace and wild eyes. I carefully removed him from the box and took in his stress-ball-like texture. 'How convenient!' I thought. 'Just as we're dealing with all of that reorganization stress, this shows up to help!' And so, I decided to give him a little squeeze. Maybe his eyes would pop out, or something would come out of his ears and I would be simultaneously amused and less stressed...


But no.

He started to scream at me.

"RELAX! Caaalm down, now! Doooon't stress! Taaake it eaaasy....." (Forgive the awful spelling. It's the only way to explain his drawl.)


His loud, grating voice startled me, bumped my bloodpressure and made me drop the blasted little bugger on the floor, where he promptly speechified again (this time to my toes.) Once he had stopped shouting, and I had stopped hyperventilating at being startled, I began to laugh. I had an amazing tool of comedic relief in my hot little hands, and it needed to make the rounds.


And so it did.

And over the course of fifteen minutes, you could hear a chorus of laughter from every spot the little darling stopped to visit with a frazzled worker.


But wait! There were two boxes! I said that before. What was in the other one, you ask? 'Get on with telling us!' you say. 'We don't want to hear the rest of the story until we know what *other* surprises lay in store!' Well, tough cookies. It was just more of the same. And they sound really awful in stereo, so I gave the second one to its rightful recipient.**


My real question regarding this whole situation is this, though: How did the vendor know we were stressed enough to need this little reminder to sit back and let things be for a moment? 

And that's where this article comes into play that I stumbled across last week.



It is entitled "Seven Ways To Beat Stress At Work." (Actually, it is entitled "7 Ways..." but I am of the school of thought that numbers smaller than twenty should be spelled out. Yahoo! was just lazy. But I can't say much. Remember, I'm the blogger that can't even put together posts on a regular basis. Hello, all. I'm kettle.) And even the opening paragraph made me smile:


"It's Wednesday afternoon and you're sitting at your desk at work -- your jaw is clenched, your neck muscles are tight, and it feels like something you ate for lunch is not agreeing with you. You have a meeting with your boss in 15 minutes, and you have no idea what it is about. You can't concentrate on anything. When your brain goes into stress mode at work, your ability to think and solve problems diminishes. As your options become less clear, you shift from just being stressed to panicking."

Now that's uncanny! So often I work myself into a snit because a bunch of small inconveniences create a conundrum in my tummy that broils itself into a full-blown catastrophe just through my own doings. Apparently I am among friends, as they would have written this article in hopes that one weary admin in a small northern town would stumble across it on a dreary afternoon just when she needed it most. And lucky for us, there are a number of things that one in this situation can do to help one's self settle down:



  • Focus on an image of something that gives you the experience of awe: Imagine a sunset, picture the face of someone you love, recall watching your child walk for the first time. Hold this image for as long as you wish.

  • Close your eyes or gaze at your hands on your lap and inhale while you count silently to four. Take a little pause and then exhale, counting down from four. Do this at least 10 times.

  • Imagine the sun is shining golden light upon you, creating a glowing shield that holds you and comforts you. You can imagine the faces of people whom you love as your shield. Hold this image as long as you wish.

  • With any of the above exercises, you can repeat these words silently as often as you wish: "The support I need is here. I am loved and valued."

  • Imagine support is coming up from the earth, in through your feet, and up through your body and arms as you rise from your chair and stretch for the sky. As you stretch, inhale and exhale deeply, repeating the phrase above.

  • Call or plan to meet someone who cares about you for support. Make sure you let them know that you do not want advice (unless you do), you just want support and someone who will listen.

  • Think of something funny or watch something funny on the Internet. Allow yourself to laugh for several minutes. It always helps when you take life less seriously, even if only for a moment.


  • Before you start feeling as though I've lost my mind, please note: There are many other ways to work around your stress. Some people find comfort in menial tasks: filing, moving/lifting boxes, cleaning, or other activities that can be done on "autopilot." These can be helpful in that your hands are moving, your mind can shut off and you're still working towards your goal of doing something for your employer. Others find it helpful to leave the workplace entirely when they get stressed: walk to get a coffee, sit in the car and listen to a song, or even take a sick day (or partial day) to gather their wits. (I'm not a proponent of the Mental Health Day, but I know for some it's a must. And if I thought it would help me, instead of stressing me out more by making me feel guilty about shirking my responsibilities, I'd be all over that like sauerkraut on a sausage.)


    However, this "New Age" answer to office stress is one I haven't encountered before (outside of the breathing exercises) and would really like to see work. And so now, I present this question to you ReaderFriend:


    What do you do when you're stressed out at work?

    *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


    MONDAY NOONTIME NOMS!

    "I'm in a bit of trouble because I went to sleep last night, instead of working."
    (By an EngineerFriend who was slightly stressed regarding a project he was struggling with.)


    "I think I talk to you more than I talk to my wife!"
    (By a client who, in his defense, does call *remarkably* often.)

    "You know that thing, that 'I can change anything!' attitude? Well, I grew out of that right quick. It just doesn't happen."
    (By a client who's so jaded, I worry that his nose is going to start turning green. I only asked him how he felt about books versus the Kindle... And then told him technological books are a fad.)


    "I would marry her for her accent."
    (By a client who wants desperately to move to some foreign land he's visited a bunch of times because 'You fall in love a hundred times a day over there.')


    "Everyone needs a taste of the potato action."
    (By the same client, who is a proponent of potato guns in the home. He told me this witty one-liner after telling me the story of how he shot his son under the bathroom door while said son was pooping.)


    "Binoculars never seem as cool in person as they do on TV."
    (By an employee - notably, not an Engineer - who was trying to watch a bird out the window with the binoculars we keep for that reason.)


    Engineer Friend: "Why is EngineerFriend walking his dog outside?"
    Sunny: "Because if he walks it inside, it might poop on the floor."
    (I don't get witty in the office very often. It needed to be documented.)

    *~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*


    Have a Sunny Day!

    ** Before you go thinking I louse with the mail system, please read this: Both were addressed only to "IT Manager." We officially don't have one of those at this location. We have The Guy Who Works On Computers, but I don't think his title even involves the letters "I" or "T," and he gets hives at the concept of managerial-ism. So I gave him one of of the things, and he said "Huh." and put it in a pile to take home for his child. This made me realize how okay it was for me to hold on to the duplicate.