Today was a momentous first for me – the first time I chose to leave a job. All other job departures resulted from moving, either moving to college or moving after college. But today, I said I was leaving because I wanted to. After five years and eight months at the first company I joined post-college, it’s simply time to move on. It’s bittersweet, because I know that the job I’m leaving for is a great step forward in my career, yet I’m leaving behind friends and memories. I learned more than I can even begin to describe from the people there, and they have supported me through many stages of growth in my early career. But every chapter must eventually end. And with the end of one comes the beginning of the next. My next chapter starts March 1. I expect it to be a great one.

On the plus side, bronchitis and a sinus infection are treatable, so there’s an end in sight. But I must admit that I’m going slightly insane 12 days into being sick. See, part of being an overachiever means I don’t like limitations. And being sick for this long creates significant limitations that make me crazy. So, crazy I shall be until it all goes away. Soon, please? Pretty please?

After a restful weekend, I was determined to make my way into the office for at least a few hours today. I needed human interaction after nine days of near isolation, and I figured a brief test of my stamina would be good. Yet when I awoke this morning, I began to wonder if shouldn’t give myself one more day of rest. But no, true to my stubborn ways, I stuck to my original plan. After a restless night of sleep and a challenging morning with Luna reveling in the complete puppyness of her ways, I took my time getting ready and headed to the office around 8:00. Driving through the rainy, dreary morning in heavier traffic than my usual commute? Sure, no problem. Not my idea of fun, but I managed. Summoning the head-to-toe energy necessary to walk up the front steps to the office? Problem.

Knee/hands/elbow, meet concrete steps. Concrete steps, meet knee/hands/elbow. Y’all haven’t met before, but the knees/hands/elbows know some friends of yours in locations around Missouri, Oklahoma, and a handful of other states. Hey, nice to meet you.

With my brain preoccupied with whether I could manage even a half day, my body decided to rebel from the beginning. One second I was making my way up the steps, the next second I had stubbed a toe and down I went. In the rain. In front of a cute guy. Once my brain caught up with where my body had decided to go, I muttered a subdued “ouch” (impressive, I know) and picked myself up. He asked if I was okay, I said yes, but it apparently wasn’t my day. He replied that it was a Monday after all. Yep, Monday wins.

If my life were a romantic comedy, this embarrassing event would have sparked some entertaining conversation with the cute guy who witnessed my wonderful klutziness. Alas, my life is not a romantic comedy. Feeling rather self-conscious and in quite a bit of pain, I picked myself up, brushed some of the rain from my pants, picked up my stuff, and made my way into the building and the elevator with cute guy and two other people. Completely unable to look at anything but the ground.

But you know, I can’t leave embarrassing moments like this alone. I had to tell a few people in the office and now I’m posting it here for all to read. You know, just like this moment and these moments. Because I am a klutz, and I’m not afraid to admit it.

A part of me is tempted to just let Tuesday win before Tuesday even starts. Or not, because I’m clearly too stubborn for that. Bring it on, Tuesday.

Today I feel almost human again. This is good. And thus continues the balance of returning to normal life without returning to completely full-speed-ahead normal life that results in relapse. One day at a time, I say, one day at a time.

I don’t do sick well, which is funny considering my less-than-stellar lungs and susceptibility to turning common colds into respiratory infections and pneumonia. I’m going on day seven of being sick, and I’m slowly going crazy because of it. Except that today is so much worse, because today is the first day I actually feel like I have an ounce of energy. And after so long of doing absolutely nothing, it’s tempting to use that energy to accomplish something… anything, really. But the logical side of my brain says I should park myself on the couch for another couple days and resist the urge to do anything. I’m not talking running a marathon here, or even taking the dog for a walk. Just a load of laundry to extinguish some germs or maybe a little cleaning in the kitchen. It’s a fine line between doing just a little and doing too much though. Still, a little here and there is probably a good idea to work back up to normal. And who knows, maybe a teensy little dose of activity will actually help my immune system work back up to normal. A girl can hope, right?

I claim last night’s three-hour choir practice as the reason for missing a post less than a week in to NaBloPoMo. Or more the fact that after three hours of rehearsal, nearly an hour of it spent on one song, I had absolutely no energy or brainpower remaining. And thus I forgot about blogging.

But choir rehearsal was a blast, minus the hour on one song with a very particular director. It’s Advent rehearsal time, and the ensemble group I joined about a month ago is doing a joint Advent prayer service event with our more traditional choir (think robes and all that fun). The differences between the two groups are striking, and I know I’m in the right one for my personality. First, robes? Yeah, not for me. Second, uber-traditional music? Yeah, not for me. Third, having to sing pieces of the song by yourself so she can determine different placement for balance on each song? Yeah, not for me.

When we did our first joint rehearsal Sunday, I wasn’t prepared for having to sing part of it by myself. In a room full of choir people I don’t know. See, I panic when I have to sing by myself. Those who have been following my blog for years may recall prior posts about my utter lack of confidence when it comes to two things: singing and guys. And I happened to be standing on the end of the line of sopranos, so she wanted me to sing the line first. And I froze. Completely froze. Opened my mouth and pretty much nothing came out because the entire room was looking at me. The alto section had all just sang the line beautifully, one by one, and then I froze. So the friend standing next to me who knows my dismay at singing by myself jumped in and helped a little. And the director thankfully moved on and didn’t force me to do it again.

It’s not that I can’t sing. I can. I just hate doing it by myself. If I have someone to sing with, I’m fine. But when I’m by myself, the confidence drops, I worry I’m not hitting the right notes, and I get so panicked that I have no breath support and no volume behind what I’m singing. Which then results in not being on key. Which then results in my being even more panicked about singing by myself and risking public humiliation. It’s a crazy cycle.

Despite that recent scenario, I’m absolutely loving being in a choir again. I sang in choirs from second grade through college, then stopped when I moved to St. Louis. I’ve done music for retreats and the occasional other event here and there, but not in a true choir complete with breathing and scales to warm up and lots of harmony in the pieces we do. I get to sing descant parts again! I’m still waiting for a descant part that hits above the staff, but it’s only been a month, and I imagine I’ll get one of those eventually. Or at least I hope, because those are the most fun of all.