Performance Anxiety

I had my midpoint evaluation this past week, granted I’m already five months in to my six-month probation…technicalities. When my boss mentioned that she needed to talk to be about my performance, I started to panic. I’m generally a good employee, but I can’t help but feel (just a little) guilty for my tardy arrivals, the way I breeze in and out of the office for coffee breaks and long lunches, and the fact that my in box has felt spectacularly empty these last few weeks.

It turns out that I worked myself into a frenzy over nothing. My review was pretty darn shiny. I think I might even get it to sparkle in time for the obligatory end-of-probation evaluation. There are only a few things left in my job description that I have not taken on, and as it is, I’m already the go-to girl for new assignments and over-flow work from the other offices in my unit. I suspect that my supervisor appreciates every contribution I make to the office because it means she has more time to read the paper, plan vacations, and peruse IMDB. I certainly don’t begrudge her time spent IMDBing—I love a good round of Six Degrees!

Job permanence strikes me as odd because for so long it was the one thing I boasted about not having and not wanting. Now I almost have it, but I’m not sure I want it and I know for sure it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. I’m grateful for it, nonetheless, because it means I can start planning my financial future (gasp!). Buying a house (ok, a one bedroom condo), going on vacation, and driving a new car are all plausible now.

Sometimes—and by that I mean several times a day—I wish things could go back to the way they were. I loved the simplicity of being a free spirit trying jobs on for size, a badass that served up a healthy dose of sarcasm with every flick of her stapler, a nomad who traveled the length of the state and cross country more than once to hang out with the elite and carefree. Now my life is regimented by hours and minutes—I wake up after six hours of sleep no matter how tired I am, I walk in ten minutes late no matter what time I leave my apartment, I can’t master a 30-minute meal to save my life, and nine hours is far too long to go without feeling fulfilled.

But at least I’m writing again. I guess that’s something. I’ve missed our little chats.
Currently playing: Gnarls Barkley, Crazy