Dear Tuesday,

Today's Tuesday but that means nothing to me anymore. Tuesday has meaning only in a normal Monday to Friday work week. When you work the weekend through, you need a different base.

I remember in 6th grade math learning about Base 10, and how we think in 10s because we have 10 fingers. But if we had 12 fingers, we'd think in 12s: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 <dec> <el> 10.

That's how I feel about Tuesday. When Saturday and Sunday become part of the regular work week, and when you log >80 hours at work within 8 consecutive days, we need a different base to create meaning out of what those days mean.

I'm too tired to come up with that new base right now though. All I know for sure is I should stop being hard on myself for not wanting to get out of bed, even though it's only Tuesday.

To the hope of better days to come,

B

Dear Manager at David's Bridal Who Offered Me a Job Tonight When I Was Helping My Friend Shop for a Dress,

BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA no.

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear The Job,

I know I've written you angry letters in the past, and let's be honest, I will probably continue to do so in the future because I'd rather be a full time artist. That said, I really don't hate you, and in the spirit of Christmas cheer, I wanted to tell you what I like about you. After all, much as I complain sometimes, the fact remains I haven't left you, which in itself is a testament to your not being all bad.

• My coworkers are intelligent, competent, and responsible. I can rely on them to do what they said they'd do, and it's a pleasure to help them out when I can.
• They're also funny. Never underestimate the power of humor.
• The work is challenging. In a bigger sense, I'd rather find my challenge in creative pursuits, but I am glad to have a challenging job right now that's actually teaching me skills that I can apply to those creative pursuits someday.
• You pay me. It's been a year and a half and I'm still beside myself every time I get a paycheck that's over the federal poverty level.
• You do good things. It's kind of a thrill to work for a company that's at the top of its game and plans to stay there. It can add to the stress level, sure, but there's also something incomparable about feelng you're making a difference somewhere.
• You have good food.
• You look cool. The architecture nut in me geeks out about your campus and the design that went into it. Your focus on making function look cool—drains that look like waterfalls; hallways that look like movie sets—delights me when I take a moment to really see it.

So, while I definitely need the vacation that's coming up in two days, and while I'm probably spending between 10 and 13 hours with you today and tomorrow each, I'll come back in January because there are some things I'm really happy about with you.

Merry Christmas,

B

Dear Gradual Adjustment,

Today on my way to work, I was rushed, thinking, "I'm going to be so late. I'm getting in at 8:30!"

Today on my way out of work, I was thinking, "I'm going home early! It's only 6:00!"

It wasn't till later that the real meaning of those sentiments hit me.

Hugs & kisses,

B

Dear Anonymous Microsoft Technical Writer,

When you wrote this, I have the distinct impression you didn't expect anyone to actually read it. Really? The task list monster? Glorious. Based on this, here's what I perceive about you:

• You majored in English in undergrad.
• You have a perpetually half-finished manuscript.
• You don't have your own office at Microsoft.
• You are doing the work of three people.
• You no longer work at Microsoft.
• You moved in with several housemates to pursue your poetry chapbook.

I wish you well.

Hugs & kisses,

B

Dear 29 Candles on a Raspberry Trifle,

You looked like you were about to burn the house down. "There's a lot more than 29 on there, right?" I asked my friends as they carried you out of the kitchen.

"Nope!" one said gleefully. (He's 24. Just wait a few years, buddy.)

It was like a scene out of a chick flick. You know the one. Where the single woman with a high-stress job and a cat stares her years in the face while Stevie Nicks sings Landslide soulfully in the background.

And yet, as I blew out your flames reflected like a conflagration in my eyes (no bifocals yet, thankyouverymuch), I couldn't think of anything to wish for. Surrounded by dear friends and fully aware of tons more friends all around the world wishing me well, with a hand-made trifle made with raspberries from my friend's own garden, on a front porch in autumn-like weather without the imminent threat of winter, I could only hope the next 29 years are full of such comfort and contentment as I've heretofore experienced.

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear Vienna,

Slow down, you crazy child
you're so ambitious for a juvenile
But then if you're so smart, tell me
Why are you still so afraid?

Where's the fire, what's the hurry about?
You'd better cool it off before you burn it out
You've got so much to do and
Only so many hours in a day

But you know that when the truth is told
That you can get what you want or you can just get old
You're gonna kick off before you even get halfway through
When will you realize?
Vienna waits for you.

Slow down, you're doing fine
You can't be everything you want to be before your time
Although it's so romantic on the borderline tonight
Tonight

Too bad but it's the life you lead
you're so ahead of yourself that you forgot what you need
Though you can see when you're wrong, you know
You can't always see when you're right
You're right.

You've got your passion, you've got your pride
but don't you know that only fools are satisfied?
Dream on, but don't imagine they'll all come true
When will you realize?
Vienna waits for you.

Slow down, you crazy child
and take the phone off the hook and disappear for awhile
it's all right, you can afford to lose a day or two
When will you realize?
Vienna waits for you.

And you know that when the truth is told
That you can get what you want or you can just get old
You're gonna kick off before you even get halfway through
When will you realize?
Vienna waits for you.

Hugs & kisses,
B

P.S. Thanks, Billy Joel, for getting it so right.

Dear Large Corporation That Hired Me Last June,

I've made it eight months, and I count that as a victory miracle blackout ... well, it's something. Probably mostly a sign of my impending insanity.

Thanks for paying me. It's really nice to buy a DVD without worrying about what meal I'll have to skip so I can afford it, and it's really rather awesome seeing my savings account grow instead of shrink for the first time in five years. When I bought my new peacoat on sale for 80% off, it was a pleasant surprise at the checkout, not a necessary reduction so I could also pay rent. It's good being financially sound.

All I'm saying is, I don't really like these 9- and 10-hour workdays that are starting to become regular. I don't like that I come home at 7:30, too tired to eat dinner let alone make it, shower, collapse in bed, and wake up a few hours later to start it all over again. I don't like that I can project a 57-hour workweek and my boss doesn't say, "That's too much," but instead says, "So, things are going well?" I don't like sitting at my desk, dizzy from exhaustion, ready to cry, and knowing it's only Monday afternoon. And I don't like writing about software.

(There. I said it.)

I'm still confused what you, a corporation that hires only 1% of applicants and recruits heavily from Ivy schools, saw in my application and interview, why you decided I would be a good fit. But even more so, I'm confused why you're the only place I applied to that even gave me an interview, much less an offer. I've made it eight months, and after four more, maybe that full year of experience on my résumé will give me whatever it is I need to move on, move out, and move away from the "hyper competitive and quasi abusive" work environment you've developed to separate the career-focused all stars from the 9-to-5ers who have already chosen their career and need only a means of paying for it. All I'm asking is for a 40-hour workweek. I haven't had one of those since 2008.

In other news, I'm getting my first creative piece published in a recognized journal. It is, in fact, the only thing keeping me going each day, this little secret I'll never really tell you about, the deep-down, this-is-who-I-really-am nugget of creativity. My real career.

Insincere hugs & kisses,
B

Dear Mr. President,

Okay, so it wasn't all your fault.

Yesterday was the last day of an 8-day workweek. The first two days of that week, I went to my job without a voice and with a moderate-to-severe sinus infection that I'd had for 2 1/2 weeks. The fifth day of that week, I flew to Michigan, and the last three days of that week, I had worked 13-hour shifts, on my feet most of the time, the antibiotic for my sinus infection and the air conditioning in the hospital cracking my lips and drying out my eyes as I stared at computer screens and tried to help nurses understand their new software.

When I finally got into the Detroit airport and found my flight home to Madison listed on the monitors, you can imagine my distress to see that it would take off more than an hour late. Knowing, as I did, that you were in Madison yesterday as part of your last-minute whistle-stop tour to drum up political support in swing states, I immediately blamed you for the delay. "Surely it's the president's fault," I thought, "for shutting down the Madison airport to all flights but Air Force One, and delaying my arrival home."

I was even composing an open letter to you on the subject, something along the lines of disrupting people's lives in order to garner support for your own cause.

But then when I got on the plane, they said there had been mechanical problems back in Providence this morning, and that the flight had been off schedule all day. Nothing to do with you, Mr. President.

So I apologize for blaming you for something that wasn't actually your fault. I'm sure that, as a public figure, you're used to it, but on this day, when 130 million people or so decide whether or not you still have your job next year, I just wanted to say oops.

Dear B,

I know you're exhausted. I know that the one thing you want from this weekend is to sleep and not go anywhere or be expected to do anything, that your body is collapsing from sleep deprivation and office furniture, and your mind is overwhelmed with planning, organizing, and learning.

But this isn't the weekend you get to rest. Neither will next weekend, probably, or the one after that. In other words, your days of rest are over. If you're going to hold a job that keeps you out of the house for 12 hours a day and get things done like shopping and post office visits, you're going to have to get used to the dizziness that comes from sleep deprivation, the piles of things-to-do on every surface of your apartment, the sink perpetually full of dirty dishes, and the closet full of old clothes you'll have to wear because you don't have energy to go shopping for new ones. This sounds crazy to you after your freelancer days, but it's perfectly normal. You may feel like the waking dead, but so do all the other 20-something full-time workers out there.

And just think. Half of them have kids.

Hugs & kisses,

B

Dear Cat My BFF Convinced Me to Adopt Five Years Ago,

This morning, your plaintive and insistent meowing could have been heard for at least a block around. Pacing across my face, meowing in my ear, all but tearing down the window blinds, and for what? For breakfast that's an hour late?

Which is to say thank you for being obnoxious this morning. With a late night behind me and an alarm clock that decided not to go off this morning, I would have slept through my morning work shift had it not been for you.

And an indirect thanks to my BFF for bringing this cat into my life in the first place. Little did we know how useful she would be beyond her fluffy cuteness and playful disposition.

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear Large Corporation That Took Two Months to Interview Me and Lead Me On,

Thanks for hiring me. I hope I like you as much as I'll like the paycheck.

Hugs & kisses,

B

Dear Prospective Jobs,

Here's a tip: if you require applicants to complete more than 1 page beyond the requisite résumé and cover letter, you're being ridiculous. Those of us who need jobs don't have time to spend three days on a 15-page application. We will be happy to fill out your application after you review our résumés for an initial fit, but requiring the completed application before we're even sure if we like each other? That's like asking a girl to make a three-course meal before deciding if you should take her on a first date.

(Hint: you won't get any dates that way.)

Hugs & kisses,
B

Dear Large Corporation That Told Me After My Phone Interview Last Monday That You'd Let Me Know Your Decision Within The Week,

Last I checked, a week was only seven days long. But you know what? It's okay. No really. I didn't want to hear back from you by today or anything. I'm not trying to plan my life or answer questions that require knowing whether I'm going to have a job this summer or not. It's cool. Take your time. After all, I've spent most of the past two years being led on in one way or another; goodness knows I can handle a few days more.

Hugs & kisses,
B