My summer break is
coming to an end.
I start work again on
Monday.
I’m trying not to dread
going back.
It’s not like there’s a
lot of bad news.
I have some exciting
projects to work on.
And I’m looking forward
to the symbolic fresh start
of the new season, in
terms of how I view
myself and the people I
work with.
On top of which, I just
had five weeks off.
I really shouldn’t be
complaining about anything.
But I’m scared.
I’m not sure this craft
I’ve built is seaworthy.
And time is running out
for modifications
or last minute repairs.
I’ve been hiding out a
bit.
Yesterday I went to IKEA
with a friend from work.
I’d been looking forward
to the outing,
but I dragged my feet
when it came time to go.
I didn’t want to see
anyone from work,
even a friend whose
company I enjoy.
I didn’t want to think
about it.
The trip to the store in
Brooklyn was pleasant.
We looked at couches and
kitchen wares,
and I ended up buying
some pretty drinking straws,
a couple of picture
frames, and a metal coffee thermos.
My friend was dreading
going back, too.
She played along pretty
happily when
I steered conversation
away from life at the opera.
Of course, we ended up
talking about work,
gossiping over
margaritas at the end of our shopping day.
It wasn’t bad. But it
put me in a strange funk for the rest
of the evening.
I joked that seeing her
was sort of like
dipping my toe in the
pool.
Easing my way back into
the world of work.
She knew what I meant.
I might have offended
her.
I ordered us a second
round.
Don’t worry. You’re the best part of working
there.
I should get that made into a T-shirt:
‘I’m the best part of working here.’
I eyed my buxom friend.
Better make it ‘the two best parts’…