As I write this, my husband is at the local grocery store stocking up on D batteries and - well, I don’t know what else he’s hoping to buy. My plans for the day included unpacking from two weeks of suitcase living and getting caught up on work. It hadn’t occurred to me to prepare for Hurricane Sandy, despite having known about the storms impending arrival in my state for days.

In my defense, I live in Western Pennsylvania and most of the weather news has been focused on the East Coast. As a new Pittsburgh resident, I’m still a little unfamiliar with my place in the geographical scheme of things, but I know that Philadelphia is about a six hour drive from me. I assumed that meant we were just going to get some rain and maybe a little wind. I told the kids to wear their winter coats and take umbrellas to school.

According to Twitter, Allegheny County officials (the ones I’m supposed to be listening to) have declared a state of emergency and warned residents to prepare for 72 hours without power. Oops. Off my husband goes to get batteries.

It’s safe to say that I do not plan well for emergencies.
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I became a grown up on Thursday, October 18, 2012, at about six thirty in the evening.

I’m 32 years old and I have two children, including one in middle school. I’ve been married for over a decade. I’ve bought and sold three homes, paid off two car loans and purchased an appropriate amount of life insurance. None of those adult milestones, however, prepared me for the rapid aging I experienced last week when my stepdad died.
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I was fired last night.

Well, fired doesn’t seem like the most fitting word since I hadn’t been getting paid consistently for about a year; I received an email relieving me of my duties. According to the email, the organization is looking to tighten their belts and wants to streamline things moving forward; the move will make it easier for everyone (else) to get paid in the future.

I can’t shake the feeling that the real reason I was let go - or at least a mitigating factor - is because I was never all in on working for free. Strangely, this isn’t the first time this has happened to me.

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Wednesday, October 10th is World Mental Health Day, and this year’s theme is depression. I suffer from depression, and it is one of the reasons I have chosen to work for myself for the last few years. It’s also one of the reasons that working for myself can be a very, very bad thing.

The symptoms of my depression are pretty typical. I lose interest, lack motivation, and crave sleep. When my illness is at its worse, this can go on for days. It’s tough to be a good employee if you can’t get out of bed for a week.

It’s also tough to force yourself to get out of bed - or leave the house - when you don’t have to.
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Over at The Cornered Office, Mir recently wrote about healthy boundaries for a mentoring relationship. Her post was, in part, a response to another article on Penelope Trunk’s blog about what good mentoring looks like. While I was intrigued by the ideas put forth in both essays, my strongest reaction was resentment.

I am resentful when I hear other women talk about mentors because I’ve never been able to enlist the help of one myself.
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