Work notes on condolence cards

CathyCartoon

I need to find a good way to organize my notes at work.

In my former life at the paper, I didn’t need to take detailed notes about my day-to-day work-life. Every is a new day at a newspaper; you never really look back.

In corporate comms, however, I’ll be in a meeting and then won’t be expected to do anything with that information from that meeting for months.

This is problematic for me as I literally cannot remember what I wore yesterday, let alone what someone said on the phone 4 months ago.

I need to pull a Comey and Write. This. Shit. Down.

So! I got a notebook! Yay!

But then I lost that notebook. Boo!

Then I wrote all of my notes in a notepad taken from work’s storage closet. Yay!

But then I left that notepad at home. Boo!

So this is what I’ve been working off of this week:

From the beautiful mind of John Nash or me just trying to figure basic addition?

This, friends, is a condolence card someone gave me that I haven’t had the stomach to open.

On the envelope of this condolence card are some notes about what I need to work on this week as well as the monetary breakdown for the end-of-the-year bonuses for Kit’s daycare teachers (which brings me to my next essay: What Drugs Was Dorothy On When She Decided to Become Class Parent?: A Retrospective.).

I am nothing but fastidious, folks.

But, my disorganization aside, I think I’m scarred because this is a card I opened right after my dad died:

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Ugh.

 

I read it and thought, “Fuck. You’re right, condolence card. No one will ever love me in the way my dad loved me. He’s dead and now his love is also dead.”

I then cried for longer than I care to admit.

Thanks a lot, condolence card.

Thanks.

A.

Lot.

Please don’t take this the wrong way: If you bothered to send me a condolence card after my dad died, I will remember your kindness for the rest of my days. Alternately, if you didn’t say anything to me — not even a little frowny face on FB — you are pretty much dead to me and I have mentally written you out of my life (I will continue to follow you on social media, however, as I might be merciless but I’m also super bored).

If you didn’t send me a condolence card and instead cooked my children and husband food while I was visiting my Dad in the hospital while he was critically ill?

I will give you a kidney if you should ever need one.

All you have to do is ask and: Boom!  You get my kidney.

Thank you for making my family a casserole in 2017 when my world was falling apart. Enjoy my kidney.

One of the more cringe-worthy things for me about growing up is realizing how little I’ve done for people when they themselves have undergone huge life changes. Like, I really don’t think I sent that many baby gifts to friends who had babies before me. But once I had a baby, I was like: Everyone gets a baby gift!! You get a baby gift! You get a baby gift! You get a baby gift!

But now I know that if your parent dies, I am going to send you a condolence card or at least an e-mail. Maybe a text (depending on my stamp situation). That is my solemn vow.

As now I see how much it matters.

It matters so much.

Just, you know, watch the messaging.

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