The Diary of Girl Friday

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

It’s frakking hot in my office. I am miserable and an iced coffee from Starbucks can only do so much. From rain on Saturday to hot wind and 92 degrees…I can’t take it! I need time to adjust. I’ve never been so happy that the university is a casual work environment. I fully intend to exercise my right to wear flip-flops to the office. But I’ll stop short of laying out on the (extensive) grounds–it’s one thing to be a bikini clad resident, and quite another to sunbathe whilst your coworkers go about their daily business. The good news is that tomorrow it’s supposed to be in the 70s. Santa Barbara 70s is perfect weather…don’t you all wish you were here with the tan surfers and the cross-country runners in their shirtless glory? The views are spectacular! And I haven’t even mentioned the islands and the mountains and the lagoon…

I sat out on a bench during my lunch, letting the wind whip my hair into a perfectly tousled coif. My cheeks feel a bit more than sun kissed–I’ll have to remember to up the SPF application. Twenty-five is too young for permanent sun damage. I’m so happy the weather has cleared up! It means iced tea, accidental tanning sessions, and watermelon on the patio.

Who’s up for a visit?