119 prewrite

this week was a new thing for me, a new work thing, requiring being awake at 5:40 a.m. and commuting 45 minutes each way. i haven’t worked outside the house in 18 years. i am unfamiliar with commuting. i don’t say this to make you feel sorry for me, but to highlight the ‘transition’ process that you and i both know so well.

starts off eager enough. didn’t sleep very well the night before, wondering what will happen. day 2 i’m tired but it’s ok. day 3 there’s a misunderstanding with a superior and a few of us are left unsure what to do. he said this but the other guy said that. combined with exhaustion. and i literally thought “that’s it, i can’t do this. i know it’s only day 3, but this was a dumb idea. i’ll just go home.”

and i knew the following:

i can’t decide if i like it or not until it’s well underway. i can’t decide on day 3, when i’m tired. i know the first week of anything is hard. imagining getting up daily at 5:40 and then actually doing it, are two different things. with different emotions attached. and for me, being tired makes me hate my life (warning).

one thing i shared with my husband as a funny-ha-ha moment, was that on the lowest moment on day 3, i thought “i’d rather be home writing my book than here doing this.”

and that’s funny because the whole time i was getting up to write, in the dark, for 100 days, i wanted it to be over.

of course, we know what happened. i finally got to the ‘over’ part and then kept going because it was fine.

and i know the same thing will happen with the work thing. by the end of the 3 month contract, i’ll be super sad it’s over, will miss all the people, won’t have any option to ‘keep on going’ and will remember this time fondly…

do one hard day. then do another. get some sleep (i’ve just had two 12-hr sleeps). make a decision to assess it later. you can’t decide now if it’s worthwhile, while it’s still hard.

individual moments are hard. the collected time is lovely. when you look back on it, you see all the achievements, the friends, the connections, the memories, the honest stuff. you don’t look back on months of drinking and feel proud. not once. not ever.