Right now I’m writing you from a storage room. Every time I try to shift my legs, I hit a bunch of boxes. Every now and again, someone from my office will pop in without knocking (because why would a person be working in a storage room?) to get some packing materials or look around for an old edition.

It’s kind of like the scene from Office Space where the Milton character is moved to the basement with only his precious red stapler to keep him company. Except I don’t have any kind of stapler and this isn’t a wildly over-the-top comedy about corporate life. It’s my life.

The whole thing started about a week ago when I was told that due to a cubicle expansion going on along my wall, my cube would have to shift four feet to the left. It didn’t sounds like a big deal. Well, it kind of was. First off, I had to pack everything in my office (things I need on a daily basis). Then a bunch of other stuff went wrong and here I am, many nomadic days later, nestled among packing peanuts and office supplies. I probably won’t get the smell of cardboard off me for a week.

I was hugely upset about this yesterday. Not only was the “reorganization” going badly and slowly, but, being a lowly marketing assistant, I was not informed of anything or apologized to by anyone. I got my best information from rumors and gossip and the strange men with tape measures instead of from my office managers. Not to mention that the rest of the people affected by the change who were not marketing assistants were told to work from home, where they’d be more comfortable. I sincerely hope none of them live in storage facilities.

I very, very badly wanted to yell at someone about this. Instead, I seethed about it all day and then went home and cried and felt bad for myself. No one appreciates me! I’m being stored!

Then I talked to my Dad on the phone and to Ben. They both had about the same advice: snap out of it. Pick your fights. It’s just work. Don’t let the small stuff bother you. Don’t throw a pity party.

It was all good advice. The problem isn’t (I pray to god) long term – I should be back in my office by the end of the week. Pitying myself and being angry isn’t going to help anything either. More importantly, my job isn’t something that I’m passionate about, and I should be comfortable with that. My job is something that I do during the day that funds the things I am passionate about outside of work. I went to the gym (which always, always makes me feel better), cleared my mind, read a book, and decided not to be bothered by the situation any longer.

This morning, I came in, laughed at my storage room, and fixed a couple of boxes so that I could prop my feet up. When the office manager arrived (to her comfy, furnished, normal office), I talked to her about my concerns, told her that they should communicate better with me in the future, and promptly moved on with my life.

Especially now, with my company making big changes during a merge, and when my job will drastically change for the worse come January, I need to concentrate on what’s actually important to me and my career. I’ll make a big fuss when a big fuss needs to be made and throw a pity party when pity is actually invited and ready to attend. Until then, you know where to find me. I’m the one popping bubble wrap on company time.

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