My work, in progress (finally!)
I have no idea where the last month just went.
It’s sort of terrifying, on more than one level. Half of the point of this thing was (is? (was?)) to track my own progress through a strange new world. New city, new job complete with new wardrobe, new apartment with new (old) boss/landlady/roommate/delightful eccentric … even that feels strange to write, because somehow between one moment and the next I blinked, and while my eyes were closed time did one of Those Things, and now it’s June! Not even the beginning of June, we’re well established, and the more I look around, the more I realise that somehow, without my knowing it, I’ve gotten Settled In.
Which is just wrong, although I’m not entirely sure why I feel so strongly so. I feel obscurely like I’ve been cheated out of something - I was so very acutely aware, a few weeks ago, about how incredibly awkward everything was. Huge mental energy went into dwelling on it, and I think that I was expecting some sort of epiphanic realisation, when all of the pieces settled into place and life Suddenly Started to Make Sense. Preferably as a marching band walked by, or an amateur choir spontaneously burst into song, accompanied by illogically spur-of-the-moment choreographed dance moves. But no, I’ve somehow been cheated out of my glorious resolution, and it’s not fair.
There are certain other things that go hand in hand with this realisation.
The first of them, and the most glaringly obvious in spite of the fact that it seems to have completely slipped my attention for the last three weeks, is that I still haven’t been paid yet. This is, apparently, unusual. That is to say, most people in the office have been functioning quite happy under the premise that they do work, they are financially compensated for their time on a regular basis, they go home, the cycle continues.
Somehow, my existence has thrown a spanner into the works.
I’ve had four contracts, so far. The first one, I signed theoretically or electronically or both, a month before I even got here. It got me through security, it got me onto the email network, it got me my own business cards (In case there was ever any doubt, I am now officially a person, and have the little textured, embossed piece of paper to prove it. In fact, I have two hundred of them, and everyone I meet for the next twenty years is likely to get one just so I can feel like I haven’t wasted a tree) and it got me my desk, with my inordinately gorgeous view.
It was, apparently wrong. It was replaced a week in with a second contract, significantly more complicated … that was almost immediately torn up because it seemed to imply that I was an intern (which I’m not) or on a student work program (which I’m not), and that I was happy to be paid one lump sum in January (hah, haha, hah.) The third contract seemed sensible, proposed to pay me once every two weeks, and was signed and sent off on my second week here - only to be sent back, because apparently (don’t tell this to my security pass, it might start doubting itself) I hadn’t been cleared by security.
Neither Dee nor I were really sure how the fourth contract was supposed to change that fact, but it got shipped out about two weeks ago, and instantly came back with a cheerful email stating that everything was all right. My application for a paycheque went out last Friday, two weeks after I was supposed to receive my first one, and … well.
Apparently, I’m a walking anomaly, that’s all I can think. I’d say I trust it all to work out in the end except that, given where I work and more specifically the size of the active staff, I’m not entirely sure I won’t just continue to live out my life here as The Exception. Dee’s doing what she can to help me out, and I’m hoping that tomorrow everything will have magically resolved itself because I really need to buy shampoo. Somehow, though, I’m not inclined to hold my breath.
The second thing that snuck up on me, apparently while I was busy looking for my paycheque, is the strange fact that I think I actually know what my job is now.
Not, of course, that I can even begin to state it in words. In my head, I’m still ‘that girl who does things’, to be dropped for Other Things when emails or shouting across the room indicates to me a change in priorities. But there are certain of those things, here and there, that I’m starting to consider rather possessively to be mine. I have my meetings, where I sit at my desk and write in my notebook (everyone else has Blackberries, spends inordinate amounts of time writing Important Things in truncated form to other people on Blackberries while, I have the sneaking suspicion, also playing e-sudoku or tetris) and asking my questions. When people come and go, are replaced for a day or a week, I frown privately at them for breaking my pattern - although I have no idea when it is that I came to recognize my committee members, or why I care about them in the first place - and yesterday I ended up laughing at myself for being grumpy, when a protest threatened to ruin my lawn, which had just been neatly cut.
It probably has something to do with the fact that I’ve finally been given an overarching project or three to work on, when I find myself having spare time. The fact that I haven’t yet had more than a moment to devote to these projects doesn’t change the fact that finally I have a sense of greater purpose. I know what to do when no one’s giving me orders - although that hypothetical happening seems like it’ll come right after the fling pig circus.
Hopefully, all of this introspection means that life’s also going to settle down with me. As much fun as roller coasters are in real life, I’m not hugely fond of life itself picking me up and then crashing forward in a series of almost-nauseating loops for indeterminate lengths of time, especially not when it spontaneously decides I need to be upside down and not actually sitting on anything to properly enjoy the experience. I’m not really worried that a return to realtime will devolve into boring normalcy - I was yelled at, yesterday, for carrying my shoulders too high which, if anything, is an indication that things are only going to get stranger.
At least, though, I think I’ve figured out where I fit in all of it, which hopefully means that future musings will be less quietly introspective. I’ve had quite enough of it for now, let the snark return tomorrow!
It’s sort of terrifying, on more than one level. Half of the point of this thing was (is? (was?)) to track my own progress through a strange new world. New city, new job complete with new wardrobe, new apartment with new (old) boss/landlady/roommate/delightful eccentric … even that feels strange to write, because somehow between one moment and the next I blinked, and while my eyes were closed time did one of Those Things, and now it’s June! Not even the beginning of June, we’re well established, and the more I look around, the more I realise that somehow, without my knowing it, I’ve gotten Settled In.
Which is just wrong, although I’m not entirely sure why I feel so strongly so. I feel obscurely like I’ve been cheated out of something - I was so very acutely aware, a few weeks ago, about how incredibly awkward everything was. Huge mental energy went into dwelling on it, and I think that I was expecting some sort of epiphanic realisation, when all of the pieces settled into place and life Suddenly Started to Make Sense. Preferably as a marching band walked by, or an amateur choir spontaneously burst into song, accompanied by illogically spur-of-the-moment choreographed dance moves. But no, I’ve somehow been cheated out of my glorious resolution, and it’s not fair.
There are certain other things that go hand in hand with this realisation.
The first of them, and the most glaringly obvious in spite of the fact that it seems to have completely slipped my attention for the last three weeks, is that I still haven’t been paid yet. This is, apparently, unusual. That is to say, most people in the office have been functioning quite happy under the premise that they do work, they are financially compensated for their time on a regular basis, they go home, the cycle continues.
Somehow, my existence has thrown a spanner into the works.
I’ve had four contracts, so far. The first one, I signed theoretically or electronically or both, a month before I even got here. It got me through security, it got me onto the email network, it got me my own business cards (In case there was ever any doubt, I am now officially a person, and have the little textured, embossed piece of paper to prove it. In fact, I have two hundred of them, and everyone I meet for the next twenty years is likely to get one just so I can feel like I haven’t wasted a tree) and it got me my desk, with my inordinately gorgeous view.
It was, apparently wrong. It was replaced a week in with a second contract, significantly more complicated … that was almost immediately torn up because it seemed to imply that I was an intern (which I’m not) or on a student work program (which I’m not), and that I was happy to be paid one lump sum in January (hah, haha, hah.) The third contract seemed sensible, proposed to pay me once every two weeks, and was signed and sent off on my second week here - only to be sent back, because apparently (don’t tell this to my security pass, it might start doubting itself) I hadn’t been cleared by security.
Neither Dee nor I were really sure how the fourth contract was supposed to change that fact, but it got shipped out about two weeks ago, and instantly came back with a cheerful email stating that everything was all right. My application for a paycheque went out last Friday, two weeks after I was supposed to receive my first one, and … well.
Apparently, I’m a walking anomaly, that’s all I can think. I’d say I trust it all to work out in the end except that, given where I work and more specifically the size of the active staff, I’m not entirely sure I won’t just continue to live out my life here as The Exception. Dee’s doing what she can to help me out, and I’m hoping that tomorrow everything will have magically resolved itself because I really need to buy shampoo. Somehow, though, I’m not inclined to hold my breath.
The second thing that snuck up on me, apparently while I was busy looking for my paycheque, is the strange fact that I think I actually know what my job is now.
Not, of course, that I can even begin to state it in words. In my head, I’m still ‘that girl who does things’, to be dropped for Other Things when emails or shouting across the room indicates to me a change in priorities. But there are certain of those things, here and there, that I’m starting to consider rather possessively to be mine. I have my meetings, where I sit at my desk and write in my notebook (everyone else has Blackberries, spends inordinate amounts of time writing Important Things in truncated form to other people on Blackberries while, I have the sneaking suspicion, also playing e-sudoku or tetris) and asking my questions. When people come and go, are replaced for a day or a week, I frown privately at them for breaking my pattern - although I have no idea when it is that I came to recognize my committee members, or why I care about them in the first place - and yesterday I ended up laughing at myself for being grumpy, when a protest threatened to ruin my lawn, which had just been neatly cut.
It probably has something to do with the fact that I’ve finally been given an overarching project or three to work on, when I find myself having spare time. The fact that I haven’t yet had more than a moment to devote to these projects doesn’t change the fact that finally I have a sense of greater purpose. I know what to do when no one’s giving me orders - although that hypothetical happening seems like it’ll come right after the fling pig circus.
Hopefully, all of this introspection means that life’s also going to settle down with me. As much fun as roller coasters are in real life, I’m not hugely fond of life itself picking me up and then crashing forward in a series of almost-nauseating loops for indeterminate lengths of time, especially not when it spontaneously decides I need to be upside down and not actually sitting on anything to properly enjoy the experience. I’m not really worried that a return to realtime will devolve into boring normalcy - I was yelled at, yesterday, for carrying my shoulders too high which, if anything, is an indication that things are only going to get stranger.
At least, though, I think I’ve figured out where I fit in all of it, which hopefully means that future musings will be less quietly introspective. I’ve had quite enough of it for now, let the snark return tomorrow!