I’ve spent the last few days feeling as though someone very evil shot me with an elephant tranquilizer, removed my skullcap, poured ice-cold water onto my brain and then dropped me into an unending series of complicated scenarios to see how I’d do. Airport – navigate a maze of terminals, figure out your gate change, transfer your luggage annnnd GO! Back to back meetings on reporting and data and best practices and you’d best sound intelligent on no coffee startinnnng NOW!
I have welts on my arm from pinching myself to stay awake in meeting with two other guys yesterday. My notes are pretty trippy and I know I nodded off at least once. That was maybe the most traumatizing hour of my entire life. Is it rude to attempt to afix myself to the ceiling while we discuss reporting flow? OK if I try to run through the walls a couple of times while you guys talk about milestone weight and scope, hm? Please? Ohmygod, this meeting easily could have ended fifteen minutes ago why are you still talking and who invited the unicorn?
The heartiest of heartfelt b*tch-slaps would have really come in handy yesterday at about 3pm. I thought about slapping myself while staring blearily out the window but I’m such a softie where self is concerned. Don’t have it in me. This morning is a bit better. I’m able to walk in a straight line and no longer have the vacant thousand yard stare of a zombie-fied drug addict. jet-lag. Not so awesome.
The very first day in China was spent in a brutal all-day meeting in a windowless conference room. Very early on, I noticed that most of the people were referring to me as the leader of a role that I knew nothing about. “Just go with it” my boss whispered when I glanced over at him with doe-eyed terror. Things have kind of gotten increasingly exciting since then. He later explained in a 30 minute meeting at 8pm that became a 4 hour rager as more conference dwellers staggered into the bar that they were making things up as they went along and isn’t this fun? ….Yessss, actually.
China was a lot of fun. I enjoyed not throwing up in the taxi, the crazy twinkle lights festooned upon every available stationary surface, dancing in the streets and eating pig’s tongue. But as magical as China managed to be, it was more than eclipsed by California. We landed in San Francisco before we left and staggered to the Hertz counter, bitterly arguing the entire way. My boss finally said “ok” to renting a convertible but promptly got an SUV instead (have noticed a trend of saying ‘yes’ to one thing and then doing some other completely different thing. It’s very aggravating), but we had a good time driving to the hotel screaming along to Cyndi Lauper to keep ourselves awake after the long flight and only getting lost twice. It was a moment. But that’s not why California was great. No, no. California became great on Sunday morning when my boss asked if I’d like to keep the valet tag for the car. He then actually handed it over (as opposed to volunteering it but then not handing it over, as would have been characteristic because it’s soOOoo fun to tease me). So that I could take the car for a spin. Would I like that?
Deserves mentioning here that we were staying at the Ritz in Half Moon Bay – located directly off of the very famous, ridiculously fun to drive, stunningly gorgeous light-of-my-life reasonforliving Highway One. Gah and ack. Nissan knows how to throw a decently responsive automobile together may I just say and, when I die (because somehow I didn’t on Sunday), I’d like for my ashes to be scattered along the asphalt of highway one.