I don't blog about my job very often here. Partially because Dooce told me not to and partially because once I start talking about my job, I don't really stop, ever, so in the interest of keeping my readership I just don't start.

All those disclaimers aside (and hello to my coworkers! I'd say your names! But I don't want to sell you out!), today is a serious day for my at my job. So serious that I won't be blogging tonight and I certainly won't be coming home any time near early. I have been preparing for this serious day for a while. I have lists and lists and lists and phone calls and computers and people who do what I say when I say it. Sometimes, I imagine if people ever talked about my work they might use the phrase, "well-oiled machine."

This is funny (to me) because when I have serious events in my life, like trips or moving or finals week, I have all the intentions of being a well-oiled machine. And the woman in the airport or on the other end of the phone line or my professor when I turn in my final paper of my academic career, all seem to think I have pulled off the task like a well-oiled machine. What they don't know is that even though I made a list of which clothes to bring on my trip or that I totally had an idea for the paper I wrote, I didn't pack until the night before. I didn't write that beautiful piece of wit and intelligence until the night before. That's why there's spelling errors. That's why my jeans are a little damp when I board the plane. I get the A, I pass the class, I get on my flight, I nail the interview. No one ever knows that I hardly got any sleep the night before. But I know.

Now, when serious work events take place in my life, there is this combination effect. Because the well-oiled machine will go on, whether I'm there or not. That's the beauty of it.

Whether I'm there or not is totally dependent on the fact that I might have stayed up really late last night FOR NO REASON when I normally go to bed at a totally, reasonable, I-have-a-job hour. Whether I'm there or not is totally dependent on the fact that I might not have a clean outfit that fits in the dress code I WROTE. Seriously, who am I?

I have to go. There are damp jeans to put on. (And, no, jeans aren't in the dress code, dress code pants won't be clean for another couple hours. But who's counting? According to the schedule (that I wrote) you're not required to be in dress code until this afternoon.)