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It is much, much easier to talk about being nice, and promise to be nice, than it is to actually be nice.
Yesterday was my coworker's birthday. As part of my gift to her, I offered to cover the morning part of her 14-hour shift today - she lives horrendously far from the office, and it would mean an atrocious drive at an unmentionable hour after a night of celebrating for her. No big deal, right? It's four hours of work, and while it puts me on the schedule for ten days straight, I've survived much worse. And at least it's not a long drive, or a taxing shift. Right?
In theory, yes. In reality, it's not that easy. When my alarm started whining at me this morning, for the umpteenth day in a row, it was nowhere near simple. Staying under my inches-deep stack of blankets, with my fiance's arm curled around me and my cat sleeping on my knees seemed far preferable to the virtuous feeling of doing right that waking up would earn me, and the warm fuzzies of a job well done shriveled and died in the breath of the Cold Monster that waited outside my bed to wrap my tender body in the icy tatters of his black, bleak skin. Only the sternest of stern reminders that I am a Nice Person, Damnit (and the thought of first dibs on the leftover cupcakes at work) was able to convince me to drag my sleepy self out of bed and into the shower.
So now it's unhealthily early, on the sixth day of ten in a row, in the middle of a cold snap in the middle of the winter, and I'm procrastinating here in the hopes that my hair will dry enough to not freeze into little hairsicles before I have to brave the dim, windy morning outside. I am so damn nice. I don't quite want a medal for this... but a cup of hot cocoa wouldn't hurt.
Yesterday was my coworker's birthday. As part of my gift to her, I offered to cover the morning part of her 14-hour shift today - she lives horrendously far from the office, and it would mean an atrocious drive at an unmentionable hour after a night of celebrating for her. No big deal, right? It's four hours of work, and while it puts me on the schedule for ten days straight, I've survived much worse. And at least it's not a long drive, or a taxing shift. Right?
In theory, yes. In reality, it's not that easy. When my alarm started whining at me this morning, for the umpteenth day in a row, it was nowhere near simple. Staying under my inches-deep stack of blankets, with my fiance's arm curled around me and my cat sleeping on my knees seemed far preferable to the virtuous feeling of doing right that waking up would earn me, and the warm fuzzies of a job well done shriveled and died in the breath of the Cold Monster that waited outside my bed to wrap my tender body in the icy tatters of his black, bleak skin. Only the sternest of stern reminders that I am a Nice Person, Damnit (and the thought of first dibs on the leftover cupcakes at work) was able to convince me to drag my sleepy self out of bed and into the shower.
So now it's unhealthily early, on the sixth day of ten in a row, in the middle of a cold snap in the middle of the winter, and I'm procrastinating here in the hopes that my hair will dry enough to not freeze into little hairsicles before I have to brave the dim, windy morning outside. I am so damn nice. I don't quite want a medal for this... but a cup of hot cocoa wouldn't hurt.
