Work of Heart

In approximately seven working days, I would receive my Givenchy two-toned chain net cinder-colored nylons. This was ironic. I also only had seven working days left in my six-month contract at my new-old job.

With seven days left, I didn’t know if I was “Gone, Baby, Gone” or if I would still have “Office Space” for another few months. Part of me was irked that my new-old company could not tell me anything. And, another part of me was sad thinking that I might not have anywhere to go on December 20th except to my couch to watch Law & Order again and again and again.

I’m a planner. Even if I arrive a bit late everywhere I go, I’m still a planner. I like to know way in advance where I’m going and exactly what I’m doing for things like travel and especially employment. As far as arriving late every now and then, well, I just don’t plan correctly how long it will take me to get to places, but I still plan even if it is incorrectly! So there.

Have I asked about my job status? Yes; I have. I always get a positive “We love the work you have been doing,” which immediately followed by a “We’re trying to make it happen” or something like that.

I would say it’s an understatement that I had worked hard at my new old job, well, except when I was goofing off on the weekend. I knew when I arrived at my new-old job that I had something to prove. I didn’t have to prove anything to myself, but I felt I had to prove to my company that some writing jobs were best done locally not globally.

I think they realized this after my first month there. In their defense, the company was going through a lot of changes in a dismal economy. Funny, but I always cut them slack, even though they laid me off.

I know some couldn't. For some reason, I always could, probably because when there were no laughs or love to be had at home, I could always find those things at my old job with my co-workers. While they took my job away, they could never take that thought away from me as it always lingered in my heart.

I gave my new-old job everything I had, especially given I was only a contract employee. I met tight deadlines and even worked weekends without overtime pay to meet those tight deadlines. Then, I worked hard to be the Crock Pot Goddess.

After another deadline was met on Monday, I started work on another project with yet another tight deadline. Most of the time, it seemed like I was gasping for air while I worked. But being there for the last six months had put a lot of breaths back into me that the year and a half of unemployment had sucked out of me. It was a lose-win-win-lose-win-lose-lose-win type of situation for sure.

I guess I should have been more grumpy. Okay, I was kind of grumpy, but given that I had met another deadline, I wanted to celebrate, especially the people who helped me the most. One engineer stopped by my office at least twice a week and always said, “If there’s anything you need, let me know.”

I decided that despite there were no great thanks for logging in last weekend and dealing with last minute changes, I wanted to thank all the people I worked with. How does the Goddess celebrate? This is a mini-quiz for you.

The Goddess celebrates by:

a) Kissing Liam the cat
b) Eating lima beans
c) Buying a lipstick at Sephora
d) Making cookies

If you answered d, you are correct. Okay, okay, okay. Answers a and c are valid, too!

So, last night, I made a double batch of my buttery butterscotch cut-outs. Iz and I rolled out the dough, smashed cookie cutters into said dough, and then decorated our little cookie hearts out with sprinkles.

After Iz went to bed, I put the cookies in bags and wrote the name of each person on the bag. I made labels and tied a label onto each bag with a blue ribbon. Here’s my label.



One engineer, who loves scotch, received three nips of it in his bag. He was the one who always asked me if I needed any help, and he won the Engineer Congeniality award. And, I swear if I said, “Yeah, I need my tires rotated,” he would have done it for me.

When I was done, I looked at my kitchen. It looked as though the Tasmanian Devil had been through it. I began the clean up process, which involved several loads of dishes. Unfortunately, while punching holes in the cookie bags, I punched a small one in the index finger on my left hand; when my wound met the lemon-scented dishwasher detergent, I howled.

I then thought, “Why am I doing this?” I don’t even know if I have a job in two weeks. I looked at all my bags on the counter, like I was looking over the last six months of my life.

When I looked at all the names, remembered all the beer o’clocks I attended with my trusty crock pot, and thought about all the documentation I had written, I squeezed my finger. It hurts, but ultimately, it hearts. No matter what happened, I’d see all my time there as a work of heart. ♥