In the evenings I get tired (don’t we all?) and I get cranky. I’m almost like a different person. I’ll give myself hell for not achieving all I wanted for the day and I let myself worry about the future, the household budget, getting enough sleep, getting fat, not keeping the house as clean as I should.
In the morning, I’m bright and sunny, even if I didn’t get much sleep. I just operate better. When I was in my 20s-30s, I’d get up for dawn patrol surfing sessions nearly everyday. Before my ruptured Achilles tendon on February 6, I would rise at 325am to work out before work. TheBus drivers got used to my 545am cheer as I boarded and read the paper on the way to town.
So now that I’m infirmed, I feel extra sorry for myself because despite having my right leg in a cast and my hobbling on crutches, my brain still functions. I don’t like to be disconnected from work. I need to be relevant. I like to know what’s going on. I credit that with my journalism background. I sure as hellas do not like to be in the dark about anything. But slowly I am learning that I am not going to know it all. Slowly I’m trying to come to peace with that.
So while HMSA’s HR department works through my documents and has a certification done so that I can return to the office once my doctor says I can, I have had to do something strangely profound: NOTHING.
Not that I’m really doing nothing. I’m a Social Media Goddess and I do have ways of finding out what’s going on with everyone from the Chair of Immobility here at home. I connect on Facebook, on Twitter, on Gmail, with LinkedIn and sometimes on HawaiiThreads. I’m watching the Washington Post, the New York Times and the Wall St. Journal for news about the health care initiatives President Obama is working so hard at getting passed. I’m watching how my friends go out to eat, go to Tweetups, go to sustainability social gatherings, or take bicycle rides on Saturdays while I just vegetate.
Can you sense my frustration? Well, now I have a new nut to crack. My husband, whom I met at The Honolulu Advertiser, may be out of his newspaper job in a few months, out of the only career he has ever known, and is facing the unfathomable prospect of unemployment.
Back in 2008 I was unemployed for four months. I reported to the unemployment office every other week with evidence that I had applied for three jobs per week so that I could get an unemployment check. I applied for 32 jobs, got three interviews and one offer. I suffered extreme dips in my self esteem and self confidence (are they the same? are they different?). John helped me through a lot back then. Now it’s my turn to help him. Fix him up. Help him polish his resume. Give him pep talks. Remind him why I’ve admired him all these years. He’s got the goods.
I’ve been told by more than one friend that I should treasure this forced down time thanks to this leg injury. Tell you what: If I could be sure my husband will find a job worthy of his smarts, level-headed attitude, calm-under-pressure-at-deadline personality, I would relax and savor this time.
He and I have both agreed that between my injury and the sale of The Honolulu Advertiser, we’ve got ourselves a rough patch. And we’ve also agreed that we’ll get through it.
Where’s that fast-forward button?