![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Early Sunday morning
Mar. 14th, 2010 08:30 amThe time before spouse awakes is the best time to write. Once he's up, any chance for a bit of reflection is out the window. God love him, but he's a chaotic soul.
So. We've been here a month. Mom asked me yesterday if I was glad we moved. Oh yes, indeed. I am.
The measure of relief I feel is a measure of the toxicity of the environment I left. I haven't had a stress headache once since arriving in Alabama: not during the rush rush rush to close on the house; not during the multitude of "discussions" (read: disagreements) over decor (I keep telling him, "Just trust me, it will look great!"); not even last week, when the plumbing in the kitchen decided to show its age, resulting in a back up that somehow ruined the dishwasher, necessitating yet another trip to Big Box Home Improvement Store to buy a new one. (Which was perfectly all right with me, to tell the truth, because I didn't like the old dishwasher. Actually, I don't like any of the kitchen appliances. But I can live with them.) I am so much more relaxed: I don't feel sick to my stomach; I'm not as nervous or jumpy or irritable or defensive. And I haven't come home from work in tears once.
I love being across town from my parents and in the same county as my sister. Last weekend, Sis and I went to an estate sale together. She and her husband and my parents came over for movie night to inaugurate the ginormous new television. We've all been to dinner together once or twice. Mom and I have gone shopping together several times. I drop by Mom's house on my way home from work a couple times a week to say hello. When all the lifting and carrying after the moving van delivered our stuff aggravated that old back injury and I could barely move for three days, they all came over to help finish the unpacking and put away the kitchen, with shelf paper and everything. It's heaven.
And the office! Omigosh. Professional dress and professional attitudes! A fairly even ratio of men to women, and so far I've detected none of the petty backbiting BS that was so pervasive in Yuba City. Oh, there's small drama, of course: we are human, after all. But I don't feel like I have to watch my back here, and I'm not micromanaged, and I'm actually treated like a mature adult with critical thinking skills who is allowed, nay, encouraged, nay, EXPECTED to use them.
The only negative thing thus far -- and it's a positive negative, depending on one's perspective -- is my inadequate wardrobe. I've spent the last 4 years buying clothes to wear in an office that was extremely casual. Blue jeans, even old faded blue jeans, were common apparel. Here? Not so much. Jeans are expressly forbidden, and my "dressy for Yuba City" clothes need to be relegated to the weekend wear they are. I still have a few skirts, but virtually no office-suitable tops for those skirts, and certainly no dresses or suits. A major shopping spree is in order, and shortly. Oh, the horror. ;-) I can hardly wait! As soon as our tax refund is deposited, I'm heading to Birmingham or Anniston. Or maybe Atlanta? Hmmm. Must discuss with potential shopping partner (Mom or Sis).
I know the honeymoon phase will soon wear off, but I'm enjoying it while it lasts. And, unless I've totally misread the atmosphere in this office, after it does, I will still feel good about getting up and going to work instead of approaching each work day with dread and trepidation.
So. We've been here a month. Mom asked me yesterday if I was glad we moved. Oh yes, indeed. I am.
The measure of relief I feel is a measure of the toxicity of the environment I left. I haven't had a stress headache once since arriving in Alabama: not during the rush rush rush to close on the house; not during the multitude of "discussions" (read: disagreements) over decor (I keep telling him, "Just trust me, it will look great!"); not even last week, when the plumbing in the kitchen decided to show its age, resulting in a back up that somehow ruined the dishwasher, necessitating yet another trip to Big Box Home Improvement Store to buy a new one. (Which was perfectly all right with me, to tell the truth, because I didn't like the old dishwasher. Actually, I don't like any of the kitchen appliances. But I can live with them.) I am so much more relaxed: I don't feel sick to my stomach; I'm not as nervous or jumpy or irritable or defensive. And I haven't come home from work in tears once.
I love being across town from my parents and in the same county as my sister. Last weekend, Sis and I went to an estate sale together. She and her husband and my parents came over for movie night to inaugurate the ginormous new television. We've all been to dinner together once or twice. Mom and I have gone shopping together several times. I drop by Mom's house on my way home from work a couple times a week to say hello. When all the lifting and carrying after the moving van delivered our stuff aggravated that old back injury and I could barely move for three days, they all came over to help finish the unpacking and put away the kitchen, with shelf paper and everything. It's heaven.
And the office! Omigosh. Professional dress and professional attitudes! A fairly even ratio of men to women, and so far I've detected none of the petty backbiting BS that was so pervasive in Yuba City. Oh, there's small drama, of course: we are human, after all. But I don't feel like I have to watch my back here, and I'm not micromanaged, and I'm actually treated like a mature adult with critical thinking skills who is allowed, nay, encouraged, nay, EXPECTED to use them.
The only negative thing thus far -- and it's a positive negative, depending on one's perspective -- is my inadequate wardrobe. I've spent the last 4 years buying clothes to wear in an office that was extremely casual. Blue jeans, even old faded blue jeans, were common apparel. Here? Not so much. Jeans are expressly forbidden, and my "dressy for Yuba City" clothes need to be relegated to the weekend wear they are. I still have a few skirts, but virtually no office-suitable tops for those skirts, and certainly no dresses or suits. A major shopping spree is in order, and shortly. Oh, the horror. ;-) I can hardly wait! As soon as our tax refund is deposited, I'm heading to Birmingham or Anniston. Or maybe Atlanta? Hmmm. Must discuss with potential shopping partner (Mom or Sis).
I know the honeymoon phase will soon wear off, but I'm enjoying it while it lasts. And, unless I've totally misread the atmosphere in this office, after it does, I will still feel good about getting up and going to work instead of approaching each work day with dread and trepidation.
