What I Did On My Winter Vacation

Day 1 of Vacation: Work 10 hours, hopping onto a last minute conference call where my direct manager announces her departure from the company effective January 1st. Vow to shut computer down until January 2nd.

Day 2 of Vacation:  Work 4 hours. Rejoice in learning my strategic refusal to take a California-based job without relocation money meant I didn't get the promotion I didn't want.  Join a group of fabulous women for cocktails worthy of a new dress and sexy stilettos. Have friend unzip dress in hotel lobby because me doing so later would involve dislocating my shoulder.

Day 3 of Vacation:  Go to therapy and, as the last session of the year winds down, realize my response to E reaching out via email was formal and distant and pretty much an indication of emotional paralysis.  Oh, right, E sent a very nice email just prior to vacation, an email that I needed five days of over-analysis to respond to poorly. Lose appetite.

Day 4 of Vacation:  Finally succumb to chills, cough, and aches that have been lingering on the periphery.  Begin a course of Nyquil that proves I'd be a terrible candidate for Ambien.

Day 5 of Vacation: Receive email from senior manager insisting I apply for my departing manager's position. According to her, I'm a high potential candidate for this position based in Washington, DC.  Dedicate time to pen a cover letter for a job I'm more interested in but am still hesitant to aggressively go for. Beam about my ability to write a stellar cover letter in twenty minutes and do so using a beautifully crafted sentence using one colon and three semi-colons.

Day 6 of Vacation: Knit Olivia a new winter hat because little else can be tackled in my current state.  Learn senior manager would like to conduct a phone interview while I'm on vacation for a job that technically isn't even posted by human resources because, unlike me, they don't work when the office is closed.

Day 7 of Vacation: Make parmesan-thyme crackers, maple-pecan bacon, flan, and dark chocolate brownies. Gather around a table with friendly faces, delicious food, and exhale that the worst has passed.

Day 8 of Vacation: Realize hair still smells like bacon. Pull on jeans, lace up sneakers, and spend part of Christmas day at a no-kill shelter petting pooches, rinsing dog bowls, and scooping poop. Head home only to learn friend of twenty-years, a friend who insisted I visit her over my vacation, doesn't know what to do because a boy she's known for four weeks wants to spend time with her and, like, it conflicts with my trip. It is a trip that is to start in twelve hours.

Day 9 of Vacation: Awake at 6.30AM to cancel NYC-bound flight slated for noon. Justify $200 cancellation fee as reasonable compared to showing up somewhere one is not welcome. Refuse to take so-called friend's craptastic insult personally and instead focus on how to get to Sarasota now that flight south from NYC is canceled.  Accept the fact my hair will probably smell like bacon forever.

Day 10 of Vacation: Climb into Gretel's front seat, slip on sunglasses, fiddle with the radio, and pull onto the highway. Just shy of Macon, sing along to Feeling 22. Passing through Valdosta, commit to reading, to writing, to playing tennis and to ending this year on a high note. Pulling into Sarasota, realize that for all that's knocked me down, I've continued to get back up and oftentimes with grace. Know that, no matter what, life's still pretty good. Even though my mother asks why I smell like bacon. And even though I have a phone interview scheduled for New Year's Eve day.