Bounty: The Other Kleenex

Even Hermione cries on a regular
basis, and she's the queen
of logical reasoning.

I do not like to cry in front of people. I suppose very few people do, really, other than professional mourners and the heroines of YA Romance novels. And maybe that's my problem--when I was supposed to be learning how to be comfortable expressing myself through tears as a teenager, I was awkwardly trying to shut off all brain activity to avoid crying in front of people.

In fact, when I can feel the tears welling up, it's like somebody just powered up the shields on the USS Enterprise...I stop listening, lose track of conversation, basically divert all systems into ensuring that no tears fall--or, as a fallback position, that no one sees them fall.

Sort of like cat logic: So long as we can both pretend you can't see me, it's like I'm perfectly camouflaged.

So today I cried in my boss's office. I honestly can't explain why. He's not a mean person, and nothing especially bad happened. I wasn't in trouble, I'm still employed, I actually like my job, and we both agree I do it reasonably well. I think it was a combination of sleep deprivation, hormones, and general change fatigue: in my three years on the job, I've had five bosses, four offices, three mail codes, two phone numbers, and I'm still looking for the partridge in the pear tree (it probably got accidentally surplused in an office move).  Probably, in fact, the afternoon's unexpected indoor rain shower was precipitated (har, har) by the exercise of trying to get packets ready for my new employees who are starting on Monday and wanting to give them a current, accurate business card:

An optimist would point out that at least the building hasn't moved, but that would not account for the fact that I've moved to a different building and then moved back to this one. A particularly snarky optimist would then mention that I haven't changed names, which is true. My last name change was a whole five years ago. It is still true that this is Texas and I am still a manager, so FINE, Mr. Snarky Optimist, you WIN. Happy?

So, yeah. Change fatigue was definitely a factor. I think the boss's exact words were, "So, do you think that maybe we could try..."

I wish I could remember what it was I am supposed to be trying, but at that point, the USS Enterprise went on full alert and I spent the next few minutes behind my shields, doodling frantically in my notebook (which probably did not achieve the impression of attentive listening I was going for), trying to keep the tears in check. This awkward silence triggers the boss to talk, offering more new ideas, which triggers more silence, which triggers more new ideas. Must. Keep. Shields. Powered. Lights are flickering on the bridge, and even Captain Kirk is getting concerned.

Like this one.

Now, the boss knows his limitations, and has been trying conscientiously to overcome them. In particular, he fully admits to not being comfortable with emotions, but, being basically a good guy, he actually used the f-word (feelings) twice and made a point of emphasizing that my feelings are valid.

So Scotty's diverting all power to the shields, and then the Klingons try to beam in some chocolates and a funny cat meme.

You know what happens next. Yeap. The shields come down.

Now, the boss is, and I say this with love, a policy wonk. There's less crying in policy than there is in baseball, probably because there are twice as many rules. This whole supervising trainers thing is new to him, and he is not prepared. I've been in training three years now, and I've learned two things: (1) as a group, trainers are comfortable expressing emotions, and (2) never, ever run out of Kleenex. The boss has only been over our area for three months, and after frantically scanning his office, he reaches into a drawer and pulls out a giant roll of paper towels. Not the pick-a-size sheets, either...the ginormous, heavy duty, clean up after hairballs and/or violent crime kind.

Awkward.

I think machete skills in an author are
extremely underrated. Yes, she honed those
skills chopping coconuts for tourists, but
think of the practical applications in
dealing with agents, editors, and people at
book signings who want her opinion on Putin.

Because one square of Bounty means that neither of us can pretend I'm not crying anymore. I think about covering my face like Bob Cat, but there's not a point really. So I do my best attempt at professionally dabbing my eyes with a paper towel and work diligently to bring the conversation to a dignified end. I probably would've done just as well with Bob's approach.

In an ideal world, we would avoid each other for another few weeks until I could safely pretend this never happened, but somehow that seems unlikely to succeed. So, I took myself out to a nice margarita and went to Katherine Arden's book signing (The Girl in the Tower--sequel to The Bear and the Nightingale) at Book People. Spending half an hour listening to her adventures in Russia and Hawaii and her experiences as a new writer was funny, inspiring, and just what I needed to reset.

And not all of the changes of the last few years have been bad, not by a long shot. In addition to whatever change the boss was proposing while I was hiding behind my anti-crying shields, I've had some poetry success, lots of love from family and friends, and, yes, written a novel of my own. Sometime in 2018, that could be me behind that podium, telling the story of how The Golden Feather came to be. Just this week, I sent my novel to the copy editor for proofing and received some draft illustrations from my friend, Steve.

So, I'll get some rest, regroup, and set the USS Enterprise out on a scouting expedition to navigate all these new places and new people, shields down, ready to explore. But I'll also bring the boss a box of Kleenex for his office. Just in case.