Chaos reigns.
PREFACE: SHOULD I, OR SHOULDN’T I?
Graduating from college and being shoved into the real-world work force was a rude wake-up call for me. I’d spent much of my first year at work learning that I can no longer skip out on responsibility to go to Keeneland on sunny days, or spontaneously leave to drive halfway across the country, or stay out late on weeknights eating cheddar tots and Derby Pie at Tolly-Ho – at least, not without serious repercussions. College, with its unstructured schedules and lenient deadlines, was a cakewalk compared to the 8-to-5 corporate bullshit I now deal with everyday.
Knowing that my vacations days were scarce and precious, when Hanson announced their dates back in August, I was a bit hesitant to agree to four shows. In the end, I decided to go for it, even though I would be using up more than half of the days that my company had allotted me for the year (stingy bastards). With Krystal and Stephanie, I made plans to head up to Cleveland, Cincinnati, and both of the Chicago shows come November. The waiting game began.
Cut to November. My company was severely short-staffed, our catalogs were falling behind, my coworkers were stressed, and we had two books due in November with unshakeable deadlines. If our catalogs don’t go to print on time, we lose the company a shitload of money.
Knowing that I would be gone for a week, essentially (right when the books are due, no less), I started putting in overtime. From 7 to 5 every day, sometimes later. I’d get home every night to exhausted too move or go out or be sociable in any sort of way. I missed out on so much fun - Jenny's Halloween party, going out with friends, shopping with my roommate, etc. The days became routine: Get up at 5:30, get ready, go to work, go to the gym, come home and eat, check my email, go back to bed, and do it all again the next day. All the while, I silently cursed Hanson, hating them for the predicament they’d put me in with this fall tour. It better be worth it became my own personal mantra. For all this trouble, it better be worth it. My desk at work became my second home:
Chaos reigns.
The week before the shows began, the stress came to a head – I have always been the type to get my shit done. I may be a procrastinator, lazy, and ornery, but in the end, I’m not a slacker. It’s just not in my nature to leave important things unfinished or in shambles, like so many others I know. My mother raised me to finish the job, come hell or highwater. But looking at the stack of work I had left to do, and the impossibility of everything being completed and under control before I left, I nearly lost it. I almost cried right there at work desk, and on more than one occasion I barely avoided a panic attack. And one morning, I woke up early before the alarm, around 4:30AM. My mind raced, and I was unable to go back to sleep.
The worst thing, though, was that I was unable to write.
I’ve always been working on some piece of writing or another, whether it’s for myself or for someone else. Never had too much of a problem with the words coming. But in the weeks before the mid-November concerts, I was dead inside. Too tired to think, to write, to be inspired. My mother sent me a link to this nonfiction contest about a month before my trip and insinuated that I should write something for it. Since, you know, I'm the writer, and all. The deadline for that was November 11, and though I tried, I ended up with nothing, which broke my heart. I’m not used to failing, and at the time, it felt like that’s precisely what I was doing, both in my personal and professional writing life. Failing.
I briefly considered cutting back my trip, despite the fact that I already had tickets, hotel rooms, and promises to others that I’d be going to the shows. Let me repeat – briefly. At work, I confided to a few of my coworkers about how stressed I’d been, and how my Hanson trip was throwing a gigantic wrench into everything.
Their response surprised me: “Don’t you dare care that much about this job. Go on your trip and have a good time.”
And then, with their reassurances, I was okay. I’m 23 years old, I thought, which is far too young to get myself so worked up over things that are beyond my control. I calmed down, and I agreed – because my company pays me enough to do my job, I suppose, but they don’t pay me enough to care. And I decided that I wasn’t about to sacrifice something I’d been looking forward to for months just to beat a deadline and make some fat old white man up in the Pennsylvania headquarters happy.
And so, on Friday, November 11, I left work behind at 11:00AM; refreshed, giddy, and excited. Heading for Louisville, where I would meet up with Krystal to start our road trip.