A thing I tweeted earlier today:
No, we don’t expect you to be logged in and available 8-5. No, we don’t expect you to be particularly productive. We expect you to do your best and be kind to each other. We’re just trying to hold it together, too.”
I do not often have trouble getting out of bed in the morning. I generally sleep well, and when I know I’m going to have a difficult day, I tell myself to Get it the Hell Over With. That usually works, and I know it is a gift.
It is getting harder.
I remember during the worst patch I ever had at work (which was not long after a really difficult patch at home) I would lie in bed and think to myself, “Name one reason why you can’t just call in sick.” And every morning, I had at least one.
I don’t have one now. Nothing is going to break if I don’t log in. No one is going to judge anyone for taking a day off. But I am afraid that if I do it once, I will keep on doing it. Example: In Week 1, I would get up at 6:30. Bathroom/contacts/teeth. Open my birds’ room. Feed them. Get dressed. Do the make up. Log in and get started.
Week 4: Get up at 6:30. Bathroom/contacts/teeth. Open my birds’ room. Get back into bed. Log in. Turn on the TV. Check email. Check Twitter. It takes me about another hour to get up, dressed, do the make up, and pull together whatever I need to get things accomplished in the morning. (I wasn’t doing my hair for real, even in Week 1).
I’m not “watching the calendar” right now. I’m not counting days. We are deep into it and the earliest “end in sight” is three weeks away. Even that doesn’t seem realistic.
Then something happened. Early this afternoon I received a text from Arielle, a relatively new young lady on my team. She said, “This company is beyond amazing” and sent a picture of a gift basket. About an hour later this arrived: