Sugar Rush

 I have loved sweets my entire life - chocolate, cookies, brownies, candy, ice cream, I was always up for dessert. I'd eat anything, provided I wasn't allergic: chocolate lava cake, tiramisu, fruit tarts, cookie dough sundaes, peppermint lattes, salted caramel truffles, and so much more. I've enjoyed ice cream for breakfast, and no, not just when I was having an especially bad day. On top of that, I love to bake, so for most of my adult life, I've had a recipe at the ready and (all too often) the spoils somewhere in my house. Even when I baked for friends, or to take to work, or whatever, I always still kept a little bit for myself. As I type this, there's both banana bread and cookie cake in my freezer. 

My thoughts have always aligned with the infamous joke about sex and pizza: Even when dessert was bad, it's still pretty good. 

As if to spite me (lol, like the universe cares that much), a global pandemic set in a year ago, and suddenly I had no one to share my baked goods with - no office, let alone office-mates to feed and/or bribe with lemon raspberry cake, blondies, cranberry cinnamon cookies.   Did I let this stop my baking habit? Of course not, except that now Bishop and I were the primary audience.  As I'm sure you can guess, this quickly spiraled out of control into a delicious disaster. 

No chocolate in my house was safe. 

In general, I have been very fortunate in the pandemic: My job in IT allows me to work 100% from home as well as keeps me gainfully employed.  Most of my immediate family was either the same, like my brothers, or retired, like my in-laws and my mother. My dad had Covid, but it was thankfully mild. Now, as vaccines roll out, working in IT has somehow added me to the priority list and Bishop and I are already one dose in, with the second scheduled soon. On top of that, my job throughout the last year has been relatively low-stress, allowing me to exercise regularly, cook more often, and generally stay sane.  I haven't gained a pound over quarantine; in fact, I've developed more muscle mass and walked more steps in the last year than probably the previous two combined. 

This is all, of course, while I've been stuffing my face with sweets. 

pictured: me March 2020-Feb 2021

I did eventually recognize that while, sure, I hadn't gained weight and of course I was enjoying myself, I was not in a healthy place. No meal was truly good for me if I chased it with a piece of cookie cake the size of my fist, no matter how many veggies were originally involved. 

This is when Whole30 got involved.  

I'd encountered it before, one of many diets that friends have tried or that popped up on one of the endless cooking subreddits I browse. I'd considered it before too, but the insanely restrictive rules seemed truly impossible when faced with my former office's glorious, never-empty pantry of cereal, yogurt, and coffee -- all things I am powerless to resist but require sugar to be fun. 

The pandemic, however, solved that problem - no temptation to eat a bunch of junk if it's not nearby, no restaurant difficulties to navigate if I haven't been in a restaurant in a year, no happy hours, birthday parties, or anything else to feel awkward (or wish for cake) at if all of those things simply do. not. exist. That, coupled with an ice cream cake for Bishop's birthday that a) was the size of a large pizza, and b) did not last a week in our home, which is just the two of us, and something had to change. 

So for the past month, Whole30 has been my life - I 'm on Day 27, 3 days and 9 meals (but who's counting) to go. Some days have been like this: 

but overall, it's been survivable. Black coffee, more eggs and brussel sprouts than I can count, and by the second week, all I really wanted in life was a grilled cheese, but it's almost done. I want to review it, to explain the inanities about American food it revealed, to rant about how dumb I find some of the rules, to excuse my mistakes, and to truly reflect on the benefits - because there have been lots, more than I expected even if they are wildly different from what I thought they'd be. 

I can't yet, because I'm not done. 

But also because I can't stop thinking about ice cream and chocolate easter bunnies, white chocolate raspberry crepes and cinnamon rolls, a real cup of coffee with cream and the blueberry lemon loaf I definitely should have baked before this misadventure started. 

Black Coffee and Sadness

I am training myself to drink black coffee. Because, you know, there wasn't enough bitterness in my life what with the pandemic and all.

Really, this all started a few weeks ago, when my ancient coffeemaker died.  It had served me well, providing far too much caffeine for far too little effort since I bought it for about $8 from a Costco in 2011.  It's been tossed into pantries and abandoned, lived through a classroom full of students abusing it, survived a career change that required SO MUCH MORE coffee than I ever anticipated, even clogged a few times, but it's always survived. Suddenly, ten days into a pandemic, and nope, time for the Little Coffee Maker Than Could to eat it.

I went to Target and bought myself a new one - a better one! - for a whole $20.

This coffee maker and I got along great for a few weeks - fresh, delicious, piping hot coffee that made the world feel a little better when it was cold and dark and awful (and not just in my house).

Then it went bad. Every cup tasted overly bitter, oily, burnt. Something was wrong - something that couldn't just be solved by cleaning the carafe, though that certainly helped.

It took me a few days until I figured it out: the creamer. My normal creamer somehow didn't get along with this new coffee maker -- the coffee turned to bitter, gross sludge. Maybe I'd added powdered vanilla caramel one too many times and the flavor rebelled. Maybe I'd tried to go sugar-free too many times and the coffee itself gave up all hope of tasting even remotely palatable. Whatever it was, every single cup was ruined.

Which brings me to yesterday. 

Yesterday, after my first cup of disgusting coffee was poured down the drain, I realized I still had half a carafe that was hot and, more importantly at 8am, caffeinated.

I poured it in a mug and stared at it for a while.

I've never liked black coffee - it tastes too much like punishing myself first thing in the morning, and if I'm going to do that, I may as well work out instead.  Sure, I've been teased over the fact that really, I'd prefer my caffeine in the form of a candy bar in a cup (aka, a skinny white chocolate mocha, and no, the irony is not lost on me). Sure, I've struggled to find tolerable gas station coffee that I can stomach while on road trips or vacations in order to stave off the headache long enough to make it through the day.  But I've never given up on creamer and so much sugar that it makes other people cringe from across the room.

But yesterday... I knew. I had to make the effort. I was drinking too much coffee every day, and it was so bad, that there was no way black coffee could possibly be worse.

I took one sip and promptly realized how wrong I was.

That said - it was still better than whatever unholy concoction I'd made and thrown out the day before, so I decided to see what I could do.

After scrounging around my nearly-empty (read: only vegetables and fruit left, what a crisis) pantry and fridge, I located a container of half and half and a couple of sugar packets. Hm. Once the sniff-test deemed the half and half acceptable, it was go-time.

About a tablespoon poured into the mug, tendrils of creamer roiling through the hot coffee. I stirred and stared - could I do it?

Nope - needed more empty calories. I added a sugar packet, stirred again, and finally took a sip.

It was pretty good.

A feeling of immense pride swept over me: I was drinking my coffee black. Well, black for me - it wouldn't give me diabetes on impact nor would it cause me to spontaneously throw up, so that qualified as a win in my book.

This morning, I repeated the experiment -- perhaps my results yesterday had been skewed. Perhaps the quarantine was getting to me. It seemed almost reasonable that I'd hallucinated a nearly-plain cup of coffee and had instead driven myself to the only open Starbucks in my city.

So I tried again -- the same tablespoon of cream and a single sugar packet, and I was bopping along, happy as Zipper on Bunny Day on a deserted island while I tried to intelligently interrogate my new coworkers on our clients and their projects.

Even while typing this, I remain proud of myself - this is growth! I've never enjoyed black coffee in my life! Could this be it? Have I made a breakthrough?

Only time, and the continued sadness of being trapped in my house, and quite a bit more mostly-black coffee, will tell.

New Job, Global Pandemic - NBD, Really

In the midst of a global pandemic, I started a new job.

It's not like I did this on purpose. I wasn't just bored and said to myself, "Well. I don't have enough stress and chaos in my life, let's throw that secure job out the window and try something new!"  But, through a combination of organizational change, conflicting schedules, and someone apparently eating a bat(?), here I am.

It's just as scary as I thought it would be. There's the normal first day stress - what do I wear, who do I ask for help, how do I know I'm doing the right training or attending the right meeting.

There's also what I'll call WTF Pandemic Stress.

Some WTFPS is just an amped-up version of normal first day stress: What do I wear when my orientation will be remote? I'll have to turn the webcam on - Do I need a suit jacket? or pants? Okay, yes, I definitely need pants - are jeans okay? Should I be wearing shoes?

But most WTFPS is bizarre, WTF am I doing, stress.  For example:

• Literally everyone at the company is working from home - I can't wander the office halls until I find someone who can give me some direction. Do I just ping random people until I find someone who can help me? There are close to 2000 people at this company - that seems like a terrible idea. It may become necessary. 
• I have no idea who my boss is - like, none. I think maybe I have two? or three? Someone who is my "team coordinator" reached out, but they specifically called out that they are not my manager. The person who is most likely to be my manager can't meet with me until next week. Who am I supposed to be taking direction from? 
• How do I know what this company is actually like? Usually the first week is key - is everyone laughing and chatting, or is the office silent? Do engineers have stickers on their laptops? Are people silently rolling their eyes when I ask for help or not? I NEED BODY LANGUAGE TO UNDERSTAND PEOPLE. 

WTFPS also works against the seemingly positive things about this new job and its weird remote orientation.  Everyone I've talked to so far has been super sympathetic and kind - is this normal? Would I be told to relax and take things at my own pace if I were in the office? Should I feel bad that my motivation is low because I'm sick of being trapped in my house and I mostly want to play Animal Crossing while I listen to training videos?

There's no remote equivalent of being in the office, especially right now. There just isn't.

Am I being paranoid? Probably. Is it justified? Again, probably.
This is a global pandemic. Why tf am I starting a new job again?

No Easy Answers

Back in February, I got a new job.

It was not something I was expecting -- one minute, I was planning on leaving after six months with the company, and the next, I was recruited off the help desk and into an actual career path I hadn't even known existed.

I'm a Business Analyst now, working with the development team of the same company that first took a chance on me last year.  My days are filled with requirements and use cases and acceptance criteria, with solving problems and studying and incredibly dry textbooks -- so like what I was doing before I moved into IT, before I changed my life.

It feels very similar, but I have to hope it won't take 150 hours of outside-the-office work to feel capable (like last time).

In transitioning to a new team, I've gained back some of what I thought I'd lost when I left teaching.  Suddenly, there is more laughter in my day.  I tolerated most of my coworkers, but I genuinely like the developer on my team, who loves musicals and dogs and is just as sarcastic as I am.  I like the head of AppDev, who is nerdy and drives a sweet car and loves to talk about anything, like I do.  I love my boss, who is enthusiastic and energetic and so positive it's almost overwhelming.

Suddenly, I'm surrounded by people for whom technology is a passion, not just a job.  I love it.

And even if I don't love the mission of my company, I was prepared to keep right on going until I hit a year or more of experience.  I was prepared to keep learning and practicing and getting better until I was more than qualified to find a new gig at a bigger, more likable company.

Until last Thursday.

Last Thursday, my boss announced she was leaving.  June 1st is her last day.

As is easy to imagine, this threw me for a bit of a tailspin.

I genuinely like my boss.  She spent months giving me advice and direction for how to improve my skills while I was bored on the help desk.  When the opportunity arose for her to create a business analyst position on the dev team, she jumped at it -- and convinced upper management that I was the right person for the job.  She has spent countless hours with me doing training, finding resources for me to learn, and giving me feedback to help me grow.  She's even funded my membership to two professional organizations, including a local one so I can get involved in my field.

On top of that, she's spent the last two months building our dev team into one worth working on.  She's built a great data services team, recruited an App/Dev manager who is an expert in the field, and found some awesome devs to actually do the work.  She's protected us from unreasonable requests from leadership, helped us navigate some truly awful deadlines and expectations, and through it all, she's talked up how much amazing work we are doing.

In all, she's an incredible person, and I love working for her.

Now she's leaving.

It shadows my whole future with question marks -- Just how much did she protect us from the mess of senior leadership?  What's about to happen with the dev team? With my BA training?  Should I leave?  Will someone hire me when I only have six months experience  in the field? If I don't leave, can I tough it out, or will it send me straight back to the same disastrous mental health issues I'd finally left behind?

There are no easy answers.

As much as I love her, her decision is a little cutthroat too.  Our new App/Dev manager joined the firm less than a month ago, wooed away from a long career as a dev and a consultant by my boss.  The primary developer on our team took the job on a recommendation from a friend on the data services team, which my boss ran.

And without her intervention and support, I would have been gone months ago.  It was never that I loved working for a semi-shady law firm; it was that working with her made it worth it to stay.

We have a built a team here, and suddenly our fearless leader is leaving.

She wants me to go with her.  Supposedly, her new company has an open business analyst position, and she wants me to apply.  She's talking me up to her recruiter and manager, trying to get them to see what she sees in me.  I'm flattered, really --  having someone else so invested in my career is strange to say the least.  But I also don't know if it'll happen.  Her company is a big one, and big companies don't always like to take chances on young careers.  If I'm lucky, they might.  If I'm really lucky, all those question marks will dissipate into some very solid, high-dollar exclamation points.

Like she already has, my boss could change my life.

But it's slow going, like everything in corporate America, and instead for the next few weeks, all I can do is learn as much as possible and hope that maybe, just maybe, my new job can be my future one, too.

Computer Literacy, Not Coding

Lately it seems like all anyone is talking about is coding.

It came up in at least three of the four job interviews I had to get my current job.  Two of the three people interviewed in a recent TimeMoney article as examples of long-term unemployment are learning to code to beef up their resumes.  Google routinely sponsors “Learn to Code!” webinars on their homepage or as events in the year.  Every local library offers learning to code classes for beginners.  There are even toys that use Star Wars as a platform to teach kids to code. 

It is a skillset hailed as the cure-all of the modern world, solving problems from students lacking math skills to unemployment.  Resources everywhere suggest learning to code to boost your desirability as an employee, to keep your mind sharp as age advances, to boost the amount of money you can make. 

For someone in IT, it is frankly confusing. 

Few of these articles mention computer skills in a broader sense as necessary – it is possible this goes unspoken, but considering how many phone calls my help desk receives that are “how do I change the time on my computer,” I suspect that it’s simply been overlooked.    

More often than not, these articles are filled with statements designed to draw and please audiences.  They talk about how desirable coding is as a skillset, how much money a developer can make.  Sometimes they tell one-in-a-million stories about employers competing over coders, sending their salaries sky-high.  Most mention, at least indirectly, those most famous programmers who have made millions with a new product – Mark Zuckerberg comes to mind, along with basically the entirety of Silicon Valley (the place, not the show). 

It’s not that all of these things aren’t true.

 

Sure, if you learn to code, you could make a shitload of money.  You could end up being pursued aggressively by employers.  You could invent a new app and run your own company and make millions. 

But before you do all that, you have to actually learn to code. 

Almost none of these articles mention just how time-consuming and truthfully, hard, coding actually is.  Most, instead, point toward coding boot camps or small start-ups that will walk a new coder through a lot of small, easy-to-write/understand programs.   They’re full of encouraging statements like “Everyone can code!” or stories about people learning to code in retirement, as if that somehow makes it easier.   Some courses, like those on Udemy or Pluralsight, offer more comprehensive looks at coding, but even then, they often start with blindfolds and hand-holding, hiding just how difficult this skill is to acquire. 

Everything starts easy – the traditional “Hello, World!” console program (below),

a calculator, a rudimentary coin-flipper, all those little baby programs that make this seem really easy and possible.  Sure, everyone can learn to code when it’s just a few lines!

But, as with most things, it’s not that simple. 

Coding is, essentially, syntax combined with algebra.  How you put statements together, how you declare variables, and how you set your methods to run (all extremely basic tasks in C#, for example) is all about how you set up the computer to read your code. 

If you are like me, and Algebra 1 threw you back in high school, this seems near-impossible.

There’s a lot out there about how to learn to code, but the one resource that has always stuck with me is Viking Code School’s article “WhyLearning to Code is so Damn Hard.”  It has a handy graph to outline the process: 

That graph alone is enough to scare people away – the 'desert of despair' does not sound particularly welcoming.   Hell, listening to Bishop talk about hours or days at work spent running down the smallest of bugs makes me want to cry with frustration on his behalf. 

So the notion that everyone should learn this skill baffles me. 

Apparently, I am not alone. 

Last May, just as I was leaving teaching, I found myself briefly unemployed.  It didn’t last long – all told, about three weeks, one of which was just me waiting for my start date to finally arrive.  But like so many others who find themselves unemployed, I considered that maybe I should learn to code. 

Bishop set me up with a beginner Udemy course he’d used and I was off and running. 

For about an hour.

Then, stumped by the fact that coding is algebra conducted in Latin and I sucked at both, I started playing on the internet.  Within minutes of googling about coding, I stumbled upon the Tech Crunch article above, titled “Please Don’t Learn to Code.” 

It argues that, while coding is a useful skillset and our current economy does need people able to do it, providing the entire populate with these skills is wildly unnecessary.  At one point, the author says, “I would no more urge everyone to learn to program than I would urge everyone to learn to plumb.”

 

I know there are those who would argue that everyone should learn to plumb.  Resist that urge, just for a moment. 

Instead, the author argues for better problem solving skills – after all, someone can code to their heart’s content, but if they don’t understand the problem they are solving, coding a solution is pointless.  You can’t fix a bug if you don’t know why the bug is there in the first place.  Those skills are the ones that are truly lacking – the ability to figure out what’s going on, to ask the right questions, to fumble through and find a solution that works – and all that has to happen long before anyone can whip out a variable and assign it a value. 

Having read this, and having helped students, family members, and more fix computers for years, and having spent just a smattering of time in the industry, I can safely say that coding is not for everyone. 

 

Everyone does, however, need computer skills.  That’s just the world we live in now – just about everyone will interact with a computer almost daily, in some form.  And those problem solving skills that Tech Crunch wants us all to have are only sharpened by learning how to solve all kinds of small computer problems.

Instead of coding, what I would argue for is computer literacy. 

I just left teaching – I’m still so close that I write lesson plans in my head while I brush my teeth and have active shooter nightmares.  I’ll build you a curriculum right here:

Unit 1: Working a Computer: Hardware

• Parts of a computer: motherboard, processor, hard drive, RAM, and more
• How to build a computer
• Never leave the computer on all the time
• Why pressing the power button to turn it off is a terrible idea
• Don’t just yank out a jump drive
• Fix it vs. Replace it: Pros & Cons

Unit 2: Working a Computer: Software

• Basic Programs: How to set up email, word processing, online storage, etc
• Strong Passwords
• What a strong password actually IS
• Resetting a password
• Why having a million things open makes things slow
• Changing the date, time, program defaults, and more
• Adjusting the volume

Unit 3: Basic Internet Skills

• What the Internet IS
• Set up a rudimentary network; protect that network
• Resetting a router
• THE Cloud is not A cloud
• How to google properly
• Reliable sources
• Using quotes, +, and more to tailor search results

A creative teacher might even use parts of College Humor's "If Google Were a Guy" videos  (NSFW, but very funny).

Unit 4: Basic Security

• How to avoid dangerous websites
• How to protect a home network
• What phishing, ransomeware, spyware, and more actually are
• What Not to Click On in email, online, and more
• Never open email from an unknown source
• Never give out passwords or personal info over the internet
• What to do when if your email is hacked

Unit 5: Peripherals

• How to install a keyboard, mouse, jump drive, printer
• How to set up wireless anything: Bluetooth speakers, headphones, etc
• How to install a wireless printer

Somewhere in here, people also need a lesson on “How to Be Nice to Tech Support When You Call Them.”  Too many people call my help desk and are already shouting when I pick up the phone.  They are ignoring the fact that I have literally All The Power over their computer.  Do not fuck with the IT people. 

But I digress. 

I even have the perfect time in high school: junior year, maybe opposite Personal Finance, so they have experienced some of these things but haven't yet totally checked out of school.  The final could be sitting them down in front of a computer that is all kinds of screwed up and telling them to fix it.  And disabling Google beforehand – Google is any good tech’s best friend. 

#IndustrySecrets

Some of this probably sounds painfully straightforward, but trust me, it is not.  In six months on a help desk, I have had to explain how to minimize windows, that files are different sizes and why that matters, how to turn the volume up, and why leaving your computer on for a month is a terrible idea.  People do not understand. 

Sure, sometimes, I wonder if anyone would trust the lawyers of the firm I support with their cases if they knew some of the ridiculously simple computer issues they can’t fix.  And the fact that someone will call me and brag that they don’t get computers so they’re keeping me employed does make me want to kill them.  I’m just not sure it’s 100% their fault. 

So much of our world runs on technology – smartphones, tablets, laptops, smart watches.  It is easy to assume that, since technology is ubiquitous, everyone knows how to use it.  For years I heard teachers say that kids should know how to use a laptop because they are always on their phones. 

But using something and using it correctly are not the same. 

After all, no one wants to be like one of my coworkers, who was trying to code something and accidentally deleted all his system files.  You know, the ones that let the computer turn on and load an operating system. 

Of course without some computer literacy, people probably don’t quite know what it means to load an OS, so perhaps I’m getting ahead of myself.

We can't have everyone coding until everyone can actually use a computer -- and let me tell you, almost no one can actually use a computer.

If I Start Wearing Purple at Work, No One Will Get It

Last week, I fulfilled a years-old curiosity: I went to see Gogol Bordello.

If you've never heard of them, Gogol Bordello is a Gypsy punk rock back from NYC, and they sound exactly like you'd expect from that description.  If you've heard of them, it's probably for "Start Wearing Purple":

Just about every tattoo parlor I've ever been in has them playing on repeat in the background. They've made documentaries about their band and added their bizarre sound to a variety of eclectic movie soundtracks, and they have more band members than I have fingers.  Years ago, the frontman was the lead in the movie Everything is Illuminated, opposite Elijah Wood, and spent the movie (as far as I can tell) being himself.

The band lives for the stage; they tour relentlessly, almost nomadic like their Gypsy-inspired sound, and they are known and loved for their on-stage performance and energy.

Even though I can only name the one song, I've always wanted to see them.  They live as a constant presence in the back of my mind, all tumbling chords and pounding drums and cheerful accordions.

So when I got the opportunity, I bought tickets immediately.  Poor Bishop -- he didn't have a choice; he was going too.

We drove to the venue a few nights ago with the same repeated sentiment: This was an experience.  If the show was awful, we'd leave, but we needed to see them.  Needed to experience it, just to see what it was like.  If the Wikipedia stories of their insanity were true.

They were.

By the second song in,  frontman Eugene Hutz had produced a bottle of wine from somewhere and proceeded to tear the cork out with his teeth.  He waved it around as he danced, unbuttoned-to-his-waist shirttails flying, while next to him, a 70 year old music professor positively wailed on his electric violin.  By the end of the concert, he'd broken half the horse hairs of his bow.

By the fourth song, their second-best known called Wonderlust King, the little kids and the braless women surrounding us were losing their shit dancing, the kids up on the table next to us as their parents danced behind them.  The according player on stage stood on top of the speakers and made faces at the audience while he gave Weird Al Yankovich a run for his polka-loving money.

The opera singer came out next, wearing a steam-punk floor-length orange leather jacket over leggings and binoculars, her stunning voice soaring over the Russian pouring from Hutz's mouth.

Then came the brass section, four guys in white shirts and Beetlejuice-stripped black and white pants that I quickly realized had been hanging out with the audience before the show (they'd been right behind us, actually - how was I supposed to know that the pants and the lime-green headband meant they were in the band??).  These guys, complete with trombone, trumpet, saxophone, and baritone, proceeded to rock the next three or four songs until Hutz took a break to take off his military jacket -- and then the saxophone player got into a duel with the violinist in the most insane, talented display of playing I may have ever seen.  The saxophone player could match every note of every arpeggio rolling off the strings, something I didn't think was even possible outside a symphony.

Even the frontman couldn't resist, and when they booted up the next song, wine bottle in hand, he waved all the horns back out, the opera singer produced an enormous marching band drum, and the drummer himself came out front to sing.  His white shirt was stained pink by the end.

The drum ended up in the audience for the finale, Hutz standing atop it to alternate between conducting the audience and the band (and the bouncers right behind him to catch him if he decided to crowd surf).  The crowd itself was so loud, and so enthusiastic, that when he aimed the mic to let the venue sing the refrain, I could actually understand the words.  That just doesn't happen.

Don't judge the quality of my smartphone camera :) 

And then the lights went purple.

I've seen a lot of fabulous concerts over the years -- I've seen Davey Havok walk across the hands of a mosh pit and Chris Cornell sing a duet with Chester Bennington.  I've seen Dave Mustaine rock the solos of Hanger 18, Bruce Dickinson climb the speakers to wave a British flag during The Trooper, and Gerard Way force the audience to pray to his dead grandmother.  Hell, I've seen Ninja Sex Party cover Asia's Heat of the Moment and Papa Emeritas conduct his ghouls with GHOST.

Gogol Bordell wasn't better than all of those, but it is rare that I've seen a finale with more excitement, more energy, than the refrain to Start Wearing Purple.

It was an experience I wouldn't trade for anything -- but it did throw some things into sharp relief.

Bishop went with me; like me, he was curious about the rumored energy and theatrics of this band, and like me, he was not disappointed.  But... he is the only one I shared this experience with.  I didn't walk into work the next morning excited to share the story with anyone; no one asked.  No one cared. They talk about cholesterol levels and church gatherings and grandchildren, and only rarely do they ask about my life, my interests.  My coworkers and I don't exchange stories -- we exchange problems. We aren't friends.

So though I like my job, my new career, I miss my old... life, really.  I miss seeing my friends on a daily basis.  I miss having people to eat lunch with and share stories with, that daily dose of empathy and laughter that always bolstered the necessary courage to deal with the rest of the day.

I am lonely at work in a way I wasn't expecting.

This isn't necessarily bad -- everything I'm learning requires so much work, so much effort and sheer concentration, that I don't have much time for fan theories or discussions over character development in Stranger Things 2.  Being on my own is freeing sometimes because I can push myself further, faster, than I've ever done before.

I'm going to need it.  In less than two months, I'm starting the job search once again, this time looking for a bigger, more professional place to really grow now that I've kicked down the IT door.

Maybe, just maybe, I can find a place with people I will love, people who want to talk about Thor: Ragnarok and argue about which new Star Wars movie is the best and swoon over all the UST between Dean Winchester and Castiel.

And if I'm really lucky, one day some coworker will ask what I did last night, and their face will light up when I brag that I got to see Gogol Bordello, and I can start wearing purple to work again.

Promises and Relief

A year or so ago, I made myself a promise.

I knew I had anxiety at that point - had for almost a year.  Instead of dealing with it, I did something unhealthy.  Not drugs or hurting myself or anything like that -- I just pretended it didn't exist.

I didn't change my exercise habits.
I didn't change my eating.
I didn't go to the doctor.

I just left it alone, as if it would somehow go away by magic.

But in the very back of my mind, where I pretended I hadn't noticed, I made myself a promise:  If I wasn't better in a year -- after changing jobs and some time to adjust -- I would get help.

That point passed almost a month ago.

Two months ago, I stopped sleeping.  It had happened before, here and there -- I'd have a night where I got only 3 hours of sleep, or I'd lay in bed trying to fall asleep for hours.  It wasn't unusual.  But suddenly I was having trouble every night instead of just one or two nights a week.  When I'd stopped sleeping before, the accompanying exhaustion usually cycled into being so tired I couldn't keep my eyes open, making sleep come easily the next night.

Not the case this time -- this time I didn't sleep, or couldn't fall asleep, or couldn't stay asleep, for almost a month.

When my husband insisted, I gave in and called my doctor.

Within a week, I had an appointment, and an hour after arriving, I had a diagnosis:  Mild depression with accompanying anxiety.  My doctor talked with me for a long time before writing me two prescriptions, Ambien to help me sleep, and an anti-depressant/anti-anxiety medication for my mental health.

It was an overwhelming relief.

I walked out of that office thinking that I should have gone to the doctor years ago.  That I shouldn't have suffered through months of anxiety alone.  That, yes, I could end up on this medication for a year or five or for the rest of my life, but it will be worth it if I can flip off this anxiety/depression switch that I don't know how I turned on in the first place.

It's been a month, and I haven't noticed a ton of change yet.  This medication is a long-term gamble -- it's common for it to take six weeks to be even a little bit effective.  Reviews online suggest that wait is worth it; it has some of the highest reviews for anxiety medication out there, higher than Xanax and Prozac and all the personality-numbing stuff I was afraid I'd be prescribed.  Side effects are mild too -- I had a headache the entire first week I took it, but since then it's been pretty manageable.

I have a week or so before I hit four weeks of taking it, a few more before I get to six and a follow-up with my doctor.  Just because I haven't noticed a change yet doesn't mean it isn't coming.

I remain hopeful it will.

I wasn't expecting to be put on medication.  I walked into that appointment expecting to be told to fix my diet, exercise more, sleep more, and come back to see if that helped.  But if this works, if this helps... if I can sleep again, write again, enjoy myself again... it will be worth it.