Saturday, January 8, 2011

1st (of 20 post intermission-tpi): Your Work Space

Most of the time I'm grateful I don't work at a desk, in a cubicle, or looking at a computer screen. Most of the time. There have been days (oh, there have been days) where I wandered from the hospital parking lot past offices that looked so . . . cozy, with their little lamps and framed photos and corkboards and post-its. On those days, I yearn for a sweet space of my own where I could sit, and know the next person with whom I was going to talk. Where I could wear heels (if I wanted) and kick them off under my desk and type. Or make phone calls. Or write something. But the days that I have done that, for whatever reason? After a shockingly short amount of time, I'm itching to move. Just move. Which is how I spend most days at my real job. Walking in flats and talking to strangers. Making young children cry. Playing greeting games with other employees in long hallways. (Sometimes they don't know we are playing. But just so you know, I will plan on saying hi to you as we pass each other. If you avoid eye contact completely or look like you are having an awful day, I'll just nod. But sometimes I try to predict several steps ahead if you'll be up for a hi. Just so you know).

So, my work space, I suppose, is the little collection of things I carry around with me at work. Every once in a while I'll try to fit them in pockets. But this gets a little ridiculous, and (honestly) depending on the pants I'm wearing can cause a bit of drag, if you know what I mean. So, it's either a bag (lavender or mustard yellow) or a funny clipboard, in which I often hope to find: pens (whutup Pentel!), measuring tape, a reflex hammer, HIPAA-compliant papers, a tiny book made by one of the other residents that contains every phone number any of us will ever need as well as all my passwords written in the cover, and a much larger handbook. Sometimes I carry a PDA from 2006 that gets ogled like an eight-track ("Whoa, I haven't seen one of these in years.") I also always have my cell phone (for lonely or too-ridiculous-not-to-share moments), a pager, and my stethoscope, which has a really lovely charm tied to it, so I can spot it from afar.

Then, it seems, that my "workspace" is an ever-evolving, ever-mobile, occasionally-cumbersome situation that is a little jealous of (your?) neat office supplies and cute shoes.

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