Stream-of-consciousness from an “off” week

This week was one of those times when one has the strange discomfort of not being oneself. Something was off about the whole routine of the week – even more than the routine, the very mood, the emotion and life and breath that encompassed the very substance of it. And the supreme frustration was my complete inability to put my finger on why. Part of being in the policy field is identifying a crisis, then developing a plan to address it. In debate it’s called plan-meet-need. Normal people call it problem solving. The fact that I listed “problem solving” third goes to show that I am not normal. All that to say, the fact that I can’t successfully complete step one means I cannot begin to undertake step two, and for a few days I was beginning to wonder whether I’d start being my normal self again.

I think I first realized something was “off” on Tuesday night. After a late-night grocery run, I was perched on the footstool of the plaid chair in the living room, looming over my computer and reading email. Something suddenly drew my eyes up, and I recognized there was a strange, rosy hue in the room. It was like one of those scenes from the movies where everything freezes and the camera sweeps around as you hear a character speaking her thoughts – something sentimental, profound, or otherwise crucial to the plot. I had an overwhelming sense that I was supposed to be doing or thinking something. At a loss of really what else to do, I sat back in the chair and soaked in the quiet atmosphere for a moment. Maybe the inspiration would come. But noisy thoughts crowded my mind instead.

Yes, everything’s as it should be… for now. No holding your breath. All that’s about to change. One of the best friends you’ve ever known is moving to the other side of the world, and everything will be different by the time she returns – if she comes back at all. And the political landscape is on the brink of change, the likes of which have not been seen in over a decade. You think you’ll be a health LA? I’d like to see you fight for a spot on a committee of jurisdiction when you’re in the minority. Like anyone’s going to move. You’re wasting your time; you're wasting your life.

The next day, trying to recover some lesson from the night before, I referred to my living situation as “our little piece of Heaven.” A friend replied to my email in a chastising, sarcastic tone that, while probably not meant to be offensive, managed to belittle what little desire I had to look on the bright side at the time.

Meanwhile, I assumed the title of Legislative Correspondent/Appropriations LA/Executive Assistant and Scheduler/Staff Assistant at work. The last of our staff who's going into the field deployed this week, leaving me (among other things) to manage constituent requests to meet with the President, deal with bills so the lights will stay on in our district offices, call folks at 8 pm the night before their 8:30 am White House tour to say the White House had just called to say all tours were cancelled (boy were THOSE fun to make), and last but not least, begin the planning process for the office move for the beginning of the 110^th Congress. I sat through a briefing about the lottery process for choosing an office that was so confusing I could only think, “Wow, I’m glad I’m not the one who will have to execute this.” But by the time I got back to the office, I realized that my boss’ lottery day will be only three days after the election. I called our executive assistant.

“Thomas? This is Leeann.”
"Hey, what’s up?”
“Listen, I know this is thinking a little far ahead… but do you know how soon you’ll be coming back after the election?”
“Awh, $%^ if I know. Why?”
“Well, it’s about moving. It’s quite a process and we’ll need someone here who’s ready to make these decisions.”
“We’ll figure it out after the election.”

Well, I think to myself, that’s all well and good, but this is how “after the election” will work. Everyone will be out of commission on Wednesday for reasons as numerous as they are obvious. At best, people will be coming back to D.C. on Thursday. Are they really going to drag themselves in, all haggard, exhausted, and probably still hung over on what is *technically* a federal holiday to make sure boss gets the suite, carpeting, and furniture he wants? Unlikely.

I talked to my Chief of Staff about it, and he gave me pretty much the same reaction as Thomas. That made me a little less stressed about it in the sense of there was no need to worry about it right now, but it pretty much sealed in my mind the reality that I would be the one coordinating our lottery position as well as the move.

I consulted one of my few remaining coworkers actually in the office on the matter.

“Well,” JP said, sitting back in his chair and rifling through the pile of letters I’d just bestowed on him, “I don’t know where Thomas will be; I don’t know where Walker will be. I don’t know where you’ll be.” The mischievous grin finally spread across his face. “But what I do know is I am going to be in Atlantic City.”

If the abstention of throwing things at my coworkers was not part of my personal policy (a hard-learned lesson that is another story altogether), I would’ve assaulted him with every pen jammed together in the mug on a nearby desk.

By God’s grace, between then and now, I’ve come (closer, at least) to find my center, as Allis would say. Counting my blessings helped a lot. I get to plan my boss’ move for the 110^th. I have friends who don’t know whether they will have a job in the next legislative session. Even if we lose the majority, I still have a job and will have the ability to decide where I go from here. When Allis leaves, there will be a hole, yes; but it looks like (fingers crossed) Sarah and I will have the joy of welcoming in a dear friend as our new roommate.

Bottom line: life is different. Life changes. Life moves on. And it’s not necessarily a bad thing.

And in the meantime, there is tonight. Tonight, I'm enjoying having had a delicious dinner (fajitas), working on my presentation for class tomorrow, the satisfaction of having had a productive day at work (actually doing what I am paid to do - write), and listening to the rain fall.