Productivity

Today I:

Woke up to a phone call from my dad at 10 a.m.

Jumped in the shower and got out of the apartment and on the road by 10:40.

Answered the text of a co-worker calling in sick.

Met the family in Somerville, who had driven from Hardin County to hand off a chunk of change I just found out I needed desperately in order to close on the house.

Drove back to Memphis.

Went to Kinko’s (FedExOffice, I suppose it’s really called) to copy the check, front and back, enlarged.

Went to bank to deposit check and get confirmation of deposit in both receipt form (check!) and the form of a letter from the branch manager saying that said deposit had indeed been made, which the branch manager said she could not do, despite pleas from my lender.

Went back to Kinko’s to print out bank statement showing pending deposit. Made copy of deposit receipt. Faxed hurriedly to lender.

Swung by Burger King and ate hurried shame food.

Answered the text of another co-worker calling in sick.

Went to the office.

Met. In meetings.

Made reporter’s fixes to a graphic in the Nov. 1 True Crime installment.

Threw together half a post for The Memphis Blog.

Laid out the business section.

Got an e-mail from another sick co-worker saying she’d be out for a while.

Nearly lost it. Neeeeeearly lost it. Hot tears at my desk. Got that sinking feeling. Not because of any one thing. People get sick, it happens. It was just … everything. Everything concentrated into one moment when it seems like too much for one person. Too much for any amount of people to have to deal with.

Sucked it up and tried to be a big girl and get shit done anyway.

Reassigned duties to the people left standing.

Downloaded Money&Markets and tweaked and adjusted all type to fit style.

Laid out most of A section, except for Viewpoint pages.

Got a call from loan officer, telling me the loan had been cleared to close Friday. Felt weight lift. All bones in body immediately started to ache from a lack of tension. Exhaustion set in.

Drank a cup of coffee. Black.

Designed A1 when Grizzlies opener photo finally came in.

Made next week’s department schedule. Realized my trying to take a few days off to move is really going to clash with my needing to design the next installment of True Crime. Winced.

Set up remote-desktop access so I can work from home if need be. Winced.

Laid out Sunday Homefinder.

Listened to co-workers discuss HR’s latest round of benefits enrollment seminars and got that panicky feeling about having to pick next year’s medical coverage, since I did such a horrible job of picking it for 2009.

Filled out edit lists through Sunday.

Watched the clock tick past midnight as I waited for the all-clear to go home.

In fact, I’m still sitting here. Yes, I am blogging from work. I am done with work. I technically was supposed to get off half an hour ago. But I’m here. I’m just waiting for the first edition to get in so I can typeset my second-edition pages. I’m waiting for papers. Always hurrying up to wait.

I want to go home and have a glass of wine. There is a bottle waiting on me in my fridge, given to me by my friend and co-worker Mike, who just got back from a trip out to Washington wine country, where his son works. I want to sit and just breathe a little bit so these tense coils can loosen their grip around my insides. I need to think. I need to mentally prepare myself for what is about to happen to me, for how my life is going to change when I take on the responsibility for a house — a property with lot lines and shingles and a fireplace and floorboards and windows and …

There’s the all-clear. I am going home.