Despite my many worries, I did not (permanently) crumple into a ball of stress and discouragement. Let me take a minute to congratulate myself on this.

YAY!!!

Other things that did not happen: I did not die, I’m pretty sure my boss doesn’t hate me, I did not become permanently disfigured from spending 12 hours at a time hunching sitting in a chair, and my house did not fall apart (thanks to my superhero husband).

When I received this project, I knew it was going to require some discipline to get everything finished before deadline. What I didn’t realize, until after I accepted the project and was firmly in the trenches, was that this particular project was going to require a much deeper level of editing than I had anticipated. I was expecting to do a thorough copyedit; I ended up doing a deep substantive edit.

For those of you unfamiliar with editing terms, it’s a bit like expecting a canoe and getting the titanic.

And I had a similarly difficult time staying afloat. I can’t even articulate the stress of this project—especially at the beginning, when I was making several editorial decisions that would affect the entire scope of the work. I pushed really hard to get everything done by mid-September…and here we are in November. In my defense there were a number of setbacks—getting knock-down sick for a week, miscommunications and server problems in sending files, extra hour projects at my day job—however, in all honesty, I simply did not realize the massive amount of work this project required. I’ve never been to blame for a project going past deadline before, and, oh the self-imposed guilt! Still, I tried hard to be a grown up about it—I kept my boss notified on all delays, and I know that I put in at least double the hours I expected to (about 160), but I still felt so discouraged. It was miserable.

However, with everything in the rearview mirror, now, I feel nothing but accomplishment. And a HUGE desire to get back to the things I’ve been delaying, like Mockingjay, gym nights, my routine, shopping, FREE TIME, and even housework (we’ll see how long that one lasts). I still have a few editing projects in the pipeline, but they’re 13-page lightweights when compared to this 400-page behemoth.

I am so done with this project. And it feels SO GOOD.

Jenn: 4  Editing: 0.

YAY!!!

It’s almost always the highlight of my day.

The question becomes, now, what to wear to work. Since I work at an “Old Boys’ club,” the thermostat is almost always hostile towards women—in fact, the office is even colder in the summer than it is in the winter. That’s fine. I wear a sweater to work Monday through Friday throughout the year anyways. And keep a blanket at my desk. Which I wear until the office warms up around 3:00 in the afternoon.

Let’s be honest, I know I can’t wear summer clothes to the office. But I am so tempted to dress for those 30 happy lunchtime minutes—short sleeves without sweaters! capris! sandals! happiness!

And then my daydreams are smashed by our company’s “Dress for Success” emails.

“While it is very tempting to wear your summer dresses, flip flops, shorts, and tank tops, it is never appropriate. While relaxed business attire is acceptable within the stated guidelines, we want to be sure our environment does not jeopardize professionalism and productivity.”

Here I am, working along, waiting for my 30 minutes of sunshine and BOOM! A reminder about how silly our company is. I know it sounds very millennial, but I hate our company’s dress code. It is *anything* but consistent. I shouldn’t have any problem with our dress code! Seriously! I dress like a married Mormon woman! It’s not like I’m wanting to come to work looking like I came from the Blue Boutique. The shorts I want to wear extend well beyond my fingertips.

Last week, I left the house feeling very dressed up for work—make-up on, heels, below-the-knee white capris, and a nicer purple shirt. I was feeling pretty good about myself all day until a coworker (not HR, not my boss, just an average coworker) told me to “Wear something nice to the party tomorrow—not like what you’re wearing today.”

Thanks, lady.

Maybe it’s just me, but I don’t see any difference in professionalism between the to-the-knee shorts and the past-the-knee capris. Furthermore, it kills me that these professional-looking knee-length shorts are forbidden (even with heels, even on casual Fridays), but the short skirts are always perfectly acceptable?

And, for another example, the embellished flip flops below are forbidden, while the silly Barbie shoes are “professional” enough for everyday wear and the Adidas shoes are fine on casual Friday. But, no, the leather Roxy flip flops are “deemed inappropriate by the company” and may never be worn.

I guess I should have accepted that common sense is not a fixed part of my company culture. I know, I know, I am the one choosing to work here—and as long as I do, I’ll comply with said dress code.

But I’ll never understand it.

Looking back, I have no idea how I did it.

Over the course of two months I ended up redesigning our entire brand, then creating a centennial branding scheme and applying it to everything. I worked with a publisher in New York on a magazine piece, working on everything from structuring the article, editing and rewriting text, securing advertising, setting up the design to meet specifications, and proofing the finished layout (and believe me, this piece needed a lot of proof work and editing). I also coordinated two other magazine pieces in Salt Lake, including managing management—making sure they got to their photo shoots and video conferences well prepared. I designed ads for newspapers, magazines, and websites. Met with printers and foil stampers. Folded and stuffed and labeled invitation after invitation. Created and proofed billboards, banners, and displays. Met deadline after deadline after deadline.

Most days I’d come home so tightly wound and ready to break that Ryan would dedicate his evening to tactfully helping me unwind, de-stress, and relax. He has been my rock throughout this whole adventure, and believe me, I’ve had to lean on him through a number rough patches—bursting into stress-related tears in front of the company president, his wife, and entire executive team comes to mind. (Yeah, that was awkward.) Or the week where, after a 10-hour stressful day at the job, I’d come home and spend another few hours at work on a BYU manuscript and then more hours on a sharing time. It was as exhausting as it sounds.

Really, though, I think that’s why tonight felt as nice as it did: I put a lot of hard work into this thing. It was really gratifying to see this hard work printed 5 feet tall and in a place that really could only be described as classy. And, of course, I loved having people stop me and give sincere, positive feedback about my work. Which happened a lot, actually.

I feel a sense of real accomplishment—almost more for surviving it all than anything else, even though I realize I’ve done and learned a lot.

So here’s to enjoying the moment! Even though I’m sure work will continue to be crazy and ridiculous, things feel pretty good right now.

IT’S FINISHED!!! All the stress, bad dreams, daily frustrations, unsolicited comments, and tears over this project—all done (for now). And, I’ll admit, even though it didn’t turn out anything like I’d hoped, I think it’s rather nice.

So the big-wigs have (finally) chosen their logo. We presented them with three versions—a conservative version that changed up the typography, a moderate version that added a new logo mark, and a radical version that significantly changed up the look. Guess which one they chose.*

I know I’ve been a bit of a basketcase these past few weeks, and I definitely owe some people a major thank you—my friends who supported me throughout this adventure. You guys are my real friends.

Nate, in particular, deserves a HUGE thank you for periodically checking in on me at work to make sure I wasn’t hyperventilating. I do that a lot, lately. I also owe him for helping me craft my meeting strategy (being unyieldingly upbeat, generously dispensing praise, and only focusing on the positive—basically the opposite of everything the other girl did at our first meeting).

Also, believe it or not, I should probably thank the girl I worked with on this project for being surprisingly nice. Even though we still don’t see eye-to-eye on our design preferences, it was nice to finally be able to talk without me crying for weeks afterwards. She put in a lot of effort, came up with something that was quite nice, and figured out how to put together a classy presentation. (Also, she ended up having to stay home on the day of the big meeting, which really relieved an awful amount of stress I had going in. I did feel bad she wasn’t there, since she worked hard on the project, but it really made everything much easier for me. Is that bad to say? Probably, huh?)

Of course, the biggest thank you goes to my husband. Throughout this adventure, he has done far more than his fair share of listening, empathizing, and comforting. He knows and provides—even sometimes without me telling him—the kind of feedback I need (which varies from “his honest opinion” to “tell me what I want to hear”). Also, he has a superhuman amount of patience, which has come in really handy with the amount of obsessing I do. He is a huge source of strength and support, and I appreciate him to pieces.

Really, I am so lucky to have such wonderful support from friends and family. It’s nice to know I have people I can rely on for the little things like this. It makes a difference.

I picked up the papers and saw my initial drafts for the new logo. The drafts that I’d given him last week, that I’d emphasized were “only the first drafts and not the final product,” that I only let him take because he asked for them and what was I going to say? Me: “No, you cannot have the drafts. We’re presenting the finished designs on Thursday.” Him: “You’re fired.” Of course I gave him the drafts, with the understanding that he was “just going to show his dad.” That made sense. His dad, the former big boss, rarely came in the office and the big boss wanted to ask permission to make changes.

Apparently, though, I didn’t translate “just going to show my dad” into big boss speak. Because the big boss had a meeting today with the big shots of the company—aka everyone in the company who makes more per month than I make per year—and he totally showed them my drafts.

In fact, not only did he show everyone my drafts, he passed them around for feedback. So when I got my drafts back today, they were covered in this:

Wait, what? Did the president of my company REALLY just pass around my initial designs for the entire company’s comments?? Yep. He did.

He could have waited two days, gotten the final versions of the logos, heard our views about the strengths of each, and had two or three good candidates to choose from. But did he wait? No, no he didn’t. Instead, he took my sketches and initial designs—and I had about 40 to 50 counting all the minor variations that I’d printed out just because the change in perspective makes it easier to spot problems in the design—and he presented them to a group of people with a -10 design experience.

These people were seeing my thought processes and my experiments—the good and the bad—and they put it under a microscope and ripped it apart. I feel kind of like I would if he’d read out of my journal.

Seriously, with everything on display like this, it’s trial and error with no room to err. They’re liking things that I tried out but think are awful and are hating things that I think make for a really strong design. And for the rest of the day it’s been, “Hey Jenn, I saw your logos today. I have a few graphic design friends/clients that we could get to work on this….” Me: “Sorry, guys, the big boss doesn’t want to pay for your graphic designer friends/clients with their snooty PhDs. Thanks for thinking about how I felt about this, though. You guys are great.”

As for a consensus? There really isn’t one—there were 30 big shots in that room and 30 different opinions. At this point, however, I’m pretty burnt out, so it just seems really, really funny. Which is probably a good thing for my continued employment.

Again, wish me luck. The big meeting has been moved to Thursday afternoon. And then, even if it’s terrible, I’ll at least be moving forward. I’m looking forward to Friday.

We finally had the big meeting at work, the one to determine—once and for all—what we planned to do with our logo, branding, and company image going forward. Realize this comes after nearly two months of deliberations in less-effective meetings, so this is kind of a big deal. Now when these meetings first started in November, I had big dreams about working with a really respectable design firm. Then, the big boss mentioned that he was going to give our business to his buddy who runs a two-bit design firm that actually outsources all of their work to the Philippines. Wait, what?

Needless to say, my big, lovely dreams were quickly diminished to hoping that something decent would come out of this mess.

Lucky for me, the Filipino designers struck out big time, so no green umbrellas or power buttons in our logo. (Not joking.) Unlucky for me, the owner of this two-bit design firm  thoroughly convinced the big boss that the respectable design firm was comprised of people my age and experience level who have advanced degrees in design because they couldn’t get a real job and who overcharge their clients for fluff and don’t have any real value.

A full rebuttal of this idea will have to wait for a later post because GUESS WHAT HAPPENED NEXT…

He put me in charge* of the logo design, the branding, all of it. And he wants me to have it to him in T-minus one week. ONE week. The professional design firm wanted four weeks. I get four-and-a-half working days. What??

The rest of the committee applauded me, saying what a great compliment it was that the big boss would trust me with the identity of the firm. And, certainly, they’re right. It is a big compliment—the big boss trusts very few people and he said he was impressed enough with my previous work that he trusted me with this. I really feel like I should be excited. However, there’s this very cynical part of me—formed through previous work experience—that worries that I’m  getting set up to fail. That I’ll invest all this time and energy into making the logo as aesthetically pleasing as I can, while simultaneously pleasing the different personalities on the committee, only to have it scrapped because of some off-hand comment by a random employee. (It’s happened before.)

And are you wondering what the * was for? Well, remember this? Remember the replacement who, on her very first day of work, deliberately insulted my designs in front of the big bosses, complimented my work in private, made me cry for weeks, and got me removed from the project I’d been working on for six months. Yeah, her? Well I’ve been told to work with her again on this project. Seriously, what??

Wish me luck on this one, folks. I’m gonna need it.

When I pass her in the hall, on the stairs, or in the lunchroom, I’ll almost always say “Hi Jen!” (We have the same name, did I mention that?) Without fail, she just puts her head down like she can’t see me and walks very quickly past me. Not a word, no head bob, no acknowledgment at all of my presence.

Which is fine, I guess. It doesn’t really have much of an impact on my day-to-day. But apparently it’s getting to me subconsciously.

For the last few months, after one of these events, I’ve found my mind wandering to ways I can get to her at least acknowledge me. Like “accidentally” tripping with a glass full of ice water, which would then send my cup of ice water directly into her face. Or making faces at her while saying hi her, just to see if she notices. Again, because this is middle school and that’s how we do things.

Is this a bad thing? It’s not really a conscious decision to plot against her. Just a natural reaction to a frustrating situation. Apparently, this is becoming another one of my reoccurring daydreams at work, along with telling off the opinionated financial lady and crawling under my desk and hiding from all my coworkers who don’t get it.

Maybe I should just resolve the whole thing by passing her a note.

See? A big, life-changing decision and I did just fine with it. I thought about it, figured out what I wanted, prayed about it, felt great about it, dealt with my nerves, and followed through. Two points for classic decision-making strategies.

So why doesn’t this strategy work with my job? It’s pretty much an ongoing problem—I’ve been hating my job on and off (mostly on) for two years now. I think about it all the time, but I have yet to think of a satisfying resolution. Ideally, I’d hear of an opening at an awesome company, ace the interviews, and dance my way into happy employment. However, this is 2009 and unemployment is hovering around 10%. I have a healthy amount of job security, earn a comfortable salary, and have a fantastic boss who is generally supportive of the things I do. Wouldn’t I be crazy to leave that?

Except for the fact that I cry at work several times a month.

In my family, whether or not you like your job is a moot point—you do what needs to be done to earn a living. Ryan, on the other hand, says he’d prefer me happy and working at Barnes & Noble to me coming home grumpy and teary several times a week. However, working at Barnes & Noble wouldn’t do much to advance my career. (Somehow, being a cashier or story-reader—something a 16-year-old without a college degree could do—doesn’t seem like a good career option.) But then again, since the tentative plan is to start a family in a year or two, do I really need to be focusing on what would be best for my career? Shouldn’t I, instead, be doing what’s best for me?

But at this point, what would be best for me? Right now, my salary is allowing us to pay off our cars, build up our savings, and have a little left over for a modest summer vacation. Will I regret, if I leave, giving up the opportunity to create a more secure financial future? Or will I look back and regret that I wasted so much time at a place that has made me so unhappy?

Maybe this decision is so hard because there are no easy answers, no clear direction. Or maybe it’s because I’m afraid to just take a leap of faith—doing what’s best for me and choosing not to worry about the consequences.

As a result, it’s back to my bad dreams and daydreams about work—the bad dreams of working with literary villains like Ms. Trunchbull and the daydreams mostly of me voicing my real opinions, throwing staplers and trashing cubicles for emphasis.

Last night, I cried myself to sleep at the thought of coming back here. I think I was crying not so much out of concern for my coworker—she’s a bright girl, a hard worker, and she’ll be better off working for a manager who appreciates her talents. I think it was more tears of frustration with my work performing yet another injustice and me having to try to pick up the pieces again.

So this month, Ryan and I are going to the temple to try and figure out if now is a good time for me to start applying for a position with another company. And while this might not sound like much, it’s a good deal more than I’ve done after past blows from my work.

For instance, when I was fuming mad at work, I was having multiple involuntary daydreams per day. When the guy who took my old desk asked me for my designs and background documents, I’d see myself going downstairs and dumping the still-boxed contents of my old desk at his feet—papers flying everywhere.  I’d then go upstairs to collect my things and, for good measure, send some more papers flying. Then (and this is the most joyful part), I’d finally tell that lady from accounting what I really think of her loudly forcing her opinions on everyone in earshot. (Hint: Not good things.) I’d walk out the door, my head held high, into the loving arms of new employment.

Then I’d snap out of it and find myself still at my job…sitting at my desk…making labels. The clarity of the daydreams only made my reality more pathetic and gray.

Eventually, though, my anger dissolved, and I progressed along the other stages of grief. My daydreams became less frequent and more voluntary. Now I’m down to a single work-related daydream. It’s short and simple. As I’m walking back to my desk, labels in hand, I crouch down and crawl in the small space near my filing cabinets. I stay there, in relative peace, until the workday ends.

Look at the serenity acceptance has given me.