I NEED HELP!
You know - I give, and give, and give until I can't give anymore. It is time for you, oh readers of the blog, to help me. Basically, I've been feeling really isolated since moving to my new job. It's not to say that I don't love my new job (because I do, so far, at least). I just like the idea of change much more than I actually like to experience it.
One of the most annoying parts of my old job was that my boss would come running in and out of my office, to get his documents from the communal printer. The printer was located behind me and my boss would take his papers, put his hand on the back of my chair, and stare into my computer, just to see what I was doing. Sometimes, if I was really into something, I wouldn't even hear him come in until he was standing beside me. It was awful and I total invasion of any and all personal space.
Yet, I find myself missing him and the constant hum of the printer. I miss all of my coworkers flitting around the office, sticking their head into my cubicle to ask if I had seen X file or Y grant. I haven't even seen my boss today. I've heard her down the hall, I think. I can't be sure though. I would have to actually stand up to go and investigate and that would involve moving the blanket from my lap. I'm not ready for that kind of commitment this early in the morning.
I was trying to build a relationship with J., which meant that I stopped talking to some of the other people from the internet that I was talking/flirting/laughing with almost every day. My friends from college are busy and I have this one year-old (maybe you've heard about him?) that takes up most of my evening, so it's hard for me to find time to call.
It's my fault. I know, I know.
Here is where you come in. I have this Yahoo toolbar that stares back at me from my computer. The mail icon just sits there, like a bastard, waiting for me to cave in and click it, only to find out that I don't have any messages.
I'm asking anyone who has ever read a post on this blog to give back. To break my cone of silence and isolation. I don't care if you have ever commented before or not. I don't care if you hate me and wish that I would stop talking about my kid so much. Cool. Tell me about it. Tell me a funny story. Tell me about your kids. Tell me that about the last lie you told someone. Tell me about the last time you wanted to cry, but couldn't because you feel so numb.