Restlessness

The Setting: Gazing out the window at my thriving basil plant whose vibrant green vitality strikes an enchanting balance with the calming wave of the palm frond lounging lazily over the terra-cotta-colored stucco of my apartment framed by "it's a boy!"-colored skies and marshmallow-cream clouds....

The Soundtrack: Tap, tap, tapping of computer keys, as my own and my husband's create a disorganized symphony of hope and possibility.

Steaming up the Oven: Technically nothing, but I've got the idea of some no-cook Pumpkin Pie Truffles burning a hole in my head, and I'm about to do something about it.

The Scenario: Tomorrow, tomorrow....

Tomorrow my husband will take the GRE, and when he leaves the testing facility, he will have his unofficial scores, and a pretty good idea of which schools and programs are legitimate possibilities.

Tomorrow I will have my job review, and when I leave work, I will have either a shiny, happy glow of success or an overwhelming sense of meaninglessness and doom--give or take some slight hyperbole.

I am in love with the company I work for, but I don't want to be in my current position forever. It is challenging and exciting in all the right ways, but I am restless and too capitalistic to be fully content doing the same thing for long.

Still, with the knowledge that this time next year I could be packing for Cambridge or New Haven or Chicago, it's hard to think too much about climbing the company ladder.

I already lose sleep thinking about work: nightmares flood my mind with thoughts of lost margins, excess spoilage, failure to comply with company programs, or my most legitimate concern, forgetting one more time to actually clock-in.

At work I am a machine, or at least this is my goal. Efficient, effective, whatever I have to be to put a check next to as many items on my worklist as possible, this is what I strive for. There is never enough time in the day.

My daydreams, when I can squeeze them in, are brief flashes of the things I really want: recipes to try, stories to write, languages to learn, classes to take, places to go, parties to throw, puppies to housebreak, businesses to start, boats to sail, fitness to achieve, and somewhere vying for space on the list, children to conceive. Is there ever enough time in a life?

I hope so.

I hope my job review goes well because I enjoy my job, and I am especially fond of affirmation.

I hope my husband's test goes well tomorrow because he deserves affirmation as much as I, and, impersonal though they may be, numbers can be pretty affirming.

Mostly I hope that tomorrow brings, in one form or another, a sense of proactivity and nextness.

I'm really not all that into change, but I'm getting restless here in Limbo.