#those of us who remain are going to be overworked from the hiring freeze! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

caravanslost · 7 years ago

Text

23 - Strategy

Characters: Damen/Laurent, Nicaise.

Tags: Modern AU; Whistleblower AU; Senator Damianos Akielos, a hot young upstart politician; Laurent deVere, a hot overworked and over-achieving journalist. Written for @capri-month.

“Which senator?” Laurent asks sharply.

“Akielos. The younger one.”

“And who let him in?” Laurent asks, by which he means: who is going to die today.

A Note: I’ve finally started uploading the fics on AO3, as separate chapters of the same work (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)و

A Note #2: My inbox remains open for prompts. If you feel so inclined, please fire away!

Laurent spends the morning covering the plenary session of the Economic and Social Committee, and heads back to the office at midday. When he arrives, most of the newsroom is out for the lunch hour. He counts five heads amongst the sea of computers.

It’s still enough for him to immediately sense that something unusual is afoot. When he walks into the room, all five heads snap towards him and look back down just as quickly, as though they’ve been caught doing something. All five heads make a terrible performance of pretending to work.

It makes for an unconvincing show. He surveys the room for a moment longer, cool and unflinching, but no one dares look back up at him. No one offers an explanation.

He goes to find Nicaise. Nicaise is alone in the junior copy editors’ office, eating lunch at his desk, halfway through a turkey on rye. The document on his screen is bleeding so heavily with red edits that the original text is almost gone. He feels a momentary pang of pity for whoever authored it.

Before Laurent says a word, and without so much as looking at him, Nicaise asks: “Since when did you fraternize with senators?”

“I don’t fraternize with anyone.” He says. “I hate people. You know that.”

“And believe me, they hate you. But there’s a senator in your office.”

Laurent freezes.

When his thoughts kick back into gear, he takes a step back out into the newsroom to look in the direction of his office. It’s on the other side of the large, open space, and the distance to it is littered with computers and printers and other office sundry.

But Nicaise is right: even from here, Laurent can make out the large silhouette of a man in his office.

He he returns inside, looks back at Nicaise, who still only has eyes for his screen.

“Which senator?” Laurent asks sharply.

“Akielos. The younger one.”

“And who let him in?” Laurent asks, by which he means: who is going to die today.

Nicaise turns slowly away from his computer, and delivers him a withering look.

“Do I look like your secretary?"

“Keep that tone up, and you will be.”

Nicaise puts down his sandwich for the sole purpose of raising two middle fingers in Laurent’s direction. Without so much as blinking, he turns back to his screen, and just in case Laurent doesn’t get the message, he pops in his headphones.

Nicaise is an irrepressible little shit. It’s exactly why they hired him.

But there are more pressing matters at hand.

Laurent begins making his way back to his office. The closer he gets, the more clearly the senator comes into view. He’s deep inside Laurent’s office, standing at the window, admiring the city view from behind my desk, Laurent thinks. The sheer nerve of him.

Laurent is not feeling charitable when he arrives: he has three deadlines to meet by the day’s end. The morning’s plenary session had run overtime by an hour and a half, and he needed every spare moment he could squeeze from the afternoon to write.

He knocks on this own door, and is pleased when the sound shakes the senator out of his reverie. He turns and smiles contritely at Laurent, embarrassed at how easily he’s been startled.

It’s a strangely unfiltered response. Un-senatorial. Especially from a man large enough to cause a solar eclipse.

Senator Akielos walks over to the guest’s side of the desk, and extends his hand to Laurent. Laurent takes it, and watches as his hand disappears in the senator’s warm, gigantic grip.

Laurent says, dryly: “I’ve never been received in my own office before.”

Akielos has enough grace to retain his embarrassed look. It’s still a strange contrast to the sheer power of the rest of him—everything from his height, to the perfect tailoring of his charcoal grey suit, to the obvious muscle that it barely conceals. Laurent imagines that he hulks above most people in most rooms.

“My apologies,” says Akielos, and he sounds he like he means it. “I was led here.”

“So I’ve been told,” says Laurent. “You must tell me the name of the gracious culprit.”

Laurent closes the office door behind him. He takes a quick look out the glass and notes that there are more people in the newsroom. Now there are a dozen heads, and again, they all make a very poor show of pretending not to look.

Laurent winds a hand around the drawstring and curtly shutters the blinds. It’s not much privacy, but it’ll do for now. He waves a hand towards one of the chairs in front of his desk, inviting Senator Akielos to sit, which he does.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Senator?” He asks, taking his own chair.

“Please, call me Damen. I’m sorry to bother you. I’m sure you’re busy.” says Akielos. Damen, Laurent corrects himself. “I’m here because I would like to take you to lunch.”

Whatever Laurent was expecting, it certainly wasn’t that.

“Lunch,” he repeats, neutrally, just to be sure.

“Yes, lunch.” says the Senator. “If you’re free. Which I know you are, because I asked the nice lady at the front desk as soon as I arrived.”

Lauren thinks, two people are going to die today.

He leans back in his chair and studies his unexpected guest. The younger of the Akielos brothers is the more natural politician—far less experienced than Kastor, but much better liked. He smiles easily and speaks simply, and does well enough on the late night talk-show circuit to be familiar. The handsomeness doesn’t hurt, either. Nor the dimple. People use a lot of words to describe his face, like charming, or presidential.

But Laurent is wary of pedestals. Likability is a dangerous platform to cultivate, especially for a politician. It screams to be sullied, and Laurent is wary of ever being tarnished with the same brush.

“We don’t know each other well enough to be lunching, Senator.”

“Perhaps we should. Let me take you out.”

Had Laurent been three or four years younger, and equally less-experienced, he might have mistaken the invitation for personal interest. He might even have been inclined to agree. A handsome face is a handsome face, and it never hurt to build an extra bridge in his line of work.

But he’s shrewder now. He registers the dissonance between the senator’s easy invitation, and the grave expression with which he offers it. There’s something searching in his eyes, and Laurent realizes with a flash that lunch is a subtext for something else, even though he can’t begin to discern what it might be.

“Lunch.” He says deliberately, eyes keen, just to make sure they’re both on the same page.

Damen’s features relax a little, when he sees that Laurent’s understood him. “Yes, exactly.”

So—lunch means a story. Laurent’s pulse begins racing, the way it always does when he finds a new lead.

It races even though he doesn’t know what the scoop might be, or whether it’ll lead anywhere. The thrill of a new tip-off is always sheer and heady. He quietly drums his fingers against the armrests of his chair, and tries to keep the elation off his face.

“Political or personal?” He asks quietly.

“Political.”

“Involving you?”

“Involving Kastor.”

Laurent stills. A less professional man in his place would have emitted a low, long whistle.

Damen looks away from him, to a point beside his head and outside the window. The struggle to rein in whatever he’s feeling is clear. It’s also clear that he doesn’t want to be here, doing this.

The fact that he’s so uncomfortable tells Laurent something promising about the reliability of what’s to come. But they can discuss that later. He steers the conversation down a slightly different avenue.

“Why me?”

Damen looks back to him, the corner of his mouth betraying an ironic quirk. “You didn’t strike me as the self-doubting type.”

“I’m not. I’m only pointing out that if your story’s as big you think it is, you might be expected to take it higher than a mid-level editor.”

“I don’t need someone with profile. I need someone thorough with a low radar, who hasn’t been around long enough to curry loyalties.”

“I’m obviously flattered, but I’d prefer if you told me the whole truth.”

Damen leans back in his chair and fixes Laurent with a pointed look. Now, he’s smiling.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” he begins lightly.

It’s hardly a promising start. Laurent says, “I’m not sure there’s going to be a right way to take this.”

Damen opens his mouth as though to speak, but pauses and refrains. He looks at a point above Laurent’s head, visibly struggling with how to phrase what he needs to say. It only serves to pique Laurent’s interest, though he can’t imagine that he’s going to like what he hears

“Put it this way.” Damen says, after a considerable number of moments, biting back the worst of his smile. “No one’s going to ask questions if I start spending time with—well. With someone like you.”

“A journalist?”

“A blonde and attractive one.” He says. “I’m—advised that I have something of a type.”

Laurent feels the colour rising in his cheeks, and he can’t do a damned thing to stop it.

Of course Damen has a type. Of course Laurent knows what it is. He picks up as many gossip rags as the next person. He’s seen the conveyer belt of attractive men and women the Senator keeps on his arm.

But he isn’t sure how he feels, about Damen counting him amongst their ilk.

“Your type is—me.” He says, just to confirm.

“Yes. Which means people won’t ask too many questions if I spend time with you.”

Laurent clicks, and draws the next few lines by himself. “And you’d like to encourage those misunderstandings, to throw them off your scent ... which is why you want to take me to lunch.’

"So you’ll come?”

Laurent pauses again.

“Yes.” He says. “But senator: we’re going to need to set some ground rules.”

#captive prince #caprimonth #captiveprincemonth #damen #laurent #this is arguably the most self-indulgent thing I've ever written

199 notes · View notes

khaleesi-in-the-north · 7 years ago

Text

In the Crosshairs (38/39)

Snow was uncommon in the Reach at any time of the year, even in the winter. It’s a cruel mockery that today the ground should be littered with specks of snow. She had never been fond of colder weather. There was little she hated more than a day where the thermometer dipped below freezing.

Funeral arrangements had to be made quickly. She’d been making such progress the Tyrells were positive that she’d battle through just as she always had. On the day she died, it was as though her spirit had given up.

She never had the chance to say goodbye.

__________

Doctors poured into the room in a river of white coats. Sansa slipped into the back corner. She’d stay out of their way but there was no chance in any hell that she was going to abandon Margaery now. If Margaery was waking up, Sansa wasn’t going to let the first thing she saw hovering over her be the cold, scrutinizing faces of a dozen strangers all poking and prodding her.

“Her vitals were abnormally high,” the nurse explained over Mace’s hysterical confused mumbling.

The doctors simultaneously turned their attention to the beeping machine that read Margaery’s vitals. It was still elevated from the consistent pace of the last two days, but no longer at a frantic pace. One doctor, an older woman with bags drooping so deep beneath her eyes she could hold a coin over the top of her cheek inside of one of them, stepped out amongst the throng toward the machine.

Instinct drew Sansa closer, first behind the second row of doctors, then to nudging her way up the ranks.

“Dear, how many coma patients have you worked with?” the doctor asked of the nurse.

“She would be my second ma’am,” the nurse stammered. Staring at her shoes, arms crossed in front of her body, the woman looked more like a young girl.

“Here’s a lesson for you: not all comas are the same. This woman is merely begin to wake up from her coma,” the doctor sighed, clearly irritated and overworked. “Her heart beat raised, but her blood pressure and brain waves are in a stable range.” The doctor was using this as a teaching moment for the rest of the staff in the room. Well intentioned as it might have been, the use of her girlfriends’ current state playing Grey’s Anatomy for a horde of supposed professionals irked Sansa.

The lesson was over soon enough. “Return to your duties. Not all of you can play doctor to the famous,” the chief doctor barked. Half the room scattered out, including the poor nurse. To those who remained the doctor said, “We will want to keep Ms. Tyrell under watch to ensure this goes smoothly.” She turned to Mace, not even sparing a glance to Sansa. She dropped into her ‘bedside manner’ that Sansa had learned every doctor had in their arsenal to varying degrees of success. This woman’s was on the better side. “We can’t say how long of a process this will take, Mr. Tyrell. She could be up and chattering within the hour; it could take several hours. She may be fine once she wakes up or she may be in and out for a couple days. It’s difficult to judge. We will begin reducing the amount of medication she’s being fed that way we can reduce the chances of hallucinations and rather unpleasant dreams as she becomes more conscious.”

Mace was too overcome to make a proper response. Given the circumstances, Sansa didn’t blame him. Notifying him of the possibility of complications may have scared him, but Sansa brushed them off. Margaery was waking up. Whatever happened along the way or after, they would handle side by side.

The gods had never looked kindly upon Sansa. She’d spent years praying, bargaining, questioning them without ever receiving a reply. She wasn’t even sure what hand they may have had in protecting her love. All the same, she thought a quick, silent prayer of thanks to the old gods who had abandoned her father to a cruel fate.

The chief nodded for one doctor to remain behind. She led the rest out of the room without so much as another word.

The new doctor, a younger man with a clean shaved face that was most popular in the Summer Islands, finally noticed Sansa was also in the room. “This could take several hours. If the two of you have things to do or need to go home for anything, there is some time.”

Sansa gave the doctor the warmest smile she could muster. “Thank you, doctor. I’m more than fine remaining here.”

“Yes, thank you, sir,” Mace shook hands with the man. His demeanor was more relaxed. Once the doctor left, he didn’t pace or hunch his shoulders as he had been before. For the first time in weeks, he’s received good news.

“Would you like me to go to the waiting room and tell your wife the news?” Sansa offered.

Mace shook his head. “I will go. I need to call my brother to check on my mother anyway. Are you planning on staying with her?”

Sansa turned to face Margaery again. The pale blue of the hospital sheets highlighted the change in her skin tone from a few days ago. When she first came to visit, she was nearly as pale as the sheets. The blood infusions had nearly returned her to her natural color. “I don’t plan on ever leaving,” Sansa murmured.

Mace bid her goodbye for the time being and headed off. Sansa tapped out two quick texts; one for Ygritte to come back to the hospital because Margaery would be awake soon, the other a short update to Arya. She ignored the list of messages from Petyr, Karstark and a very confused Shae. She ignored the messages from Petyr and Karstark. They could wait, and if they needed her desperately, they knew where she was.

One person did need her relatively immediate attention. Shae had proved sharper than Petyr had assumed when he convinced Sansa to hire her. On Margaery’s first night in the hospital, she had called and asked what happened with Jon and how they got separated in the North. How had Alayne made it back in town without anyone knowing? With Sansa’s mind clouded in her worry for Margaery, an alibi had been difficult to come up with. She finally had one and the sooner she told Shae, the less conspicuous she would appear to her friend. Oddly enough, Sansa did consider the older woman a friend. Deep down she was certain the woman knew her job wasn’t a typical bartending job, but she remained there regardless. She didn’t push to know the truth as long as it didn’t affect her, which was a nice change from her daily demands.

She preceded that email with a short message explaining she couldn’t currently talk, then went on to describe how Jon had asked her to return home for personal matters. She had agreed and remained in the North to continue searching. The moment the Tyrell family had called her about Margaery’s state, she chartered a private flight to King’s Landing. The alibi wasn’t ideal—not even close—but Shae would accept it, not because she believed it, but because it was something she could tell police if they came knocking on her door about Jon.

Shortly after Mace had left, Alerie stopped in to say that she and Mace were going back to their hotel for an urgent matter. Sansa didn’t push for more information. Between Margaery’s condition, mafia matters and Shae’s ever-growing suspicion of Alayne Stone, she had enough to occupy herself.

The latter had only just been brought to her attention through a series of texts from Petyr and Arya. The woman had called Alayne’s home to check in on her after not hearing from her for several days following Arya’s actual arrival in King’s Landing. The last she knew, “Alayne” had been searching for Margaery in the North.

The prospect of Shae piecing together the truth should frighten Sansa. Oddly enough, it’s almost a relief. She trusted Shae. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t have left Shae in charge of the bar for weeks while she was gone. There was a gut feeling that Shae wouldn’t sell her out if she knew the truth. She would mind her own business, which Sansa respected. Which was why of all her concerns, she was content letting that one continue to simmer.

Periodically the doctor would pop in and check Margaery’s vitals. Sansa continued talking to Margaery, leaving longer and longer gaps of silence when she started running out of made up topics to discuss with herself. Her heart skipped each time Margaery twitched, even when she knew the movement was involuntary. Eventually, she even tuned out the short visits from the doctor.

By the time Ygritte arrived, Margaery was showing signs of soon waking. She was moving more, becoming more responsive to the things Sansa would say. By the time she was ready to wake, Sansa, Ygritte and Garlan had gathered around Margaery’s bed, flanked by doctors.

Sansa’s heart stuttered as Margaery’s eyes blinked open. And sunk to her stomach at the recognition of pain, fear and confusion in Margaery’s wide, soft eyes.

_____________________________________________________________

She brushes snow off of the top of the granite tombstone.

“Olenna Tyrell”: “I was good. I was very good.”

There aren’t better words to describe the matriarch of the Tyrell family. She was fantastic at any task she undertook. She rebuilt the Reach into an economic boon while she was in office. She was a great talker and a great gardener. A great mother and an even better grandmother.

And she was good. Just as Renly had been good. And Brienne had been good. She even imagined she was good like Eddard Stark had been. It was just a different type of good.

Tears burn against the chill on Margaery’s cheeks. She wipes her gloved hand at the top of her cheeks, careful not to budge her arm still in the shoulder sling.

Her grandmother had always been her hero. Not only did she accomplish groundbreaking political triumphs, but she always had time for Margaery. The world knew the Queen of Thorns. Most of the time, that’s how her family knew her too. Not Margaery. She saw through the edge. Aside from her quick wit and sharp tongue, she had also found a confidant in her grandmother. When she had crushes or when she was uncertain how to tell her father she was moving to King’s Landing rather than attending law school, Margaery had gone to her grandmother first. Her grandmother was brutally honest, but always caring and always holding her best intentions.

When Willas had died, Margaery was too young to know she should have felt hurt. Now she barely remembered his smile and likely wouldn’t at all if not for the pictures of him her parents kept. Renly’s death had hurt, but Margaery is realizing more and more that the pain stemmed from guilt and sorrow for her brother. Olenna’s death caused its own brand of pain born of love and loss. There was nothing to feel guilty for, because Olenna’s death rested firmly on the neck of Cersei Lannister. With Cersei lying at the greatest depths of the seventh hell, all that was left was to mourn.

Margaery isn’t sure how much longer she kneels before the grave before she finally speaks. “I never thought you’d be the one to go first. You always went on and on and on about outliving all those wars, the political scandals, diseases. There were times it felt like you were immortal. And you’ve always been so strong. I always wanted to make you proud. In the end, I know I did. I’m sorry it ended like this, when you deserved so much more. If there’s any justice, any Seven, then your place is reserved at the highest of the heavens grandmother. I love you so much.”

Soft snow crunches behind her, growing louder and louder until the noise is just behind her. Sansa squats down beside her, enveloping her with one arm, wary not to touch her injured shoulder.

She’d still been in a half-high daze when the funeral was held. When she first gained enough soundness of mind to understand what had happened, she’d been furious that she wasn’t allowed to go to the funeral. Being back home now, secure with her family and Sansa, she begins to think she prefer funeral-for-one.

The original funeral had been a therapeutic mourning session for the general public. Television crews invaded High Garden and captured every angle of the funeral route. Citizens outlined the Hurst procession like a parade route. Cameras captured the images of young, most of whom had only the faintest idea of what Olenna had done for the Reach during her tenure, and old, whom had never known the woman behind her moniker, crying as her body passed. In the days following her return to consciousness, Margery had envied these people. What right did they have to say goodbye to a woman they hardly knew?

Today, the camera crews are long gone. The citizens of Highgarden have moved on. They’ll remember her grandmother in history books and political debate. To them, she’s a relic of the past. Which leaves Margaery the time and solitude to say goodbye. It won’t be the last time. Unlike the people who never knew Olenna, Margaery won’t forget.

Sansa leans into Margaery and Margaery presses back, her forehead pushing into Sansa’s cheekbone. Sansa’s hand rubs Margaery’s side in a soothing up and down motion. Margaery’s eyes shut, allowing her to further appreciate the smell of citrus and something wholly Sansa.

“I think I’m ready to go,” Margaery murmurs.

“Are you sure?” Sansa asks. “I don’t mind staying longer if you need to.”

Margaery shakes her head and pulls forward from Sansa’s grip. “There’s nothing more to say or do here. I’ve made my peace.”

Sansa slowly rises. She offers a hand down to Margaery to help her off the ground too. When she walks, Margaery still has a slight hobble in her step. According to the doctor that injury should be healed within a week.

She isn’t lying when she tells Sansa she’s made her peace. With her grandmother at least. With the other lives destroyed, with her physical and emotional scars from the shootout, with her role in Jon’s imprisonment and its consequences, with her work life, with her new life bound to a mafia boss? Well Sansa hadn’t asked about that.

__________

“We need to swoop in while the iron’s hot,” Umber barks in the background. “We easily have the manpower and resources to fill in the gaps left by the Lannisters. We’ll be swimming in their filthy riches in two months.”

Petyr scolds him for his carelessness, doing Sansa’s job for her. Umber always talks a big game but never knows when to shut up. Like now, when they are on an unsecure line and Sansa is in the middle of Margaery’s hospital room where a nurse could wander in and out whenever convenient.

“I think it’s best for us to discuss the matter in person tonight, Ms. Stone,” Petyr says. “The game has changed, and so has our power structure. If we wait too long to decide, we won’t have a say in what direction the game takes next.”

“It can wait,” Sansa repeats for what must be the tenth time today alone.

“It can’t wait any longer. I understand you’ve been pre-occupied with your…friend in the hospital. Our profits share and opportunity dwindles as long as you insist on playing doctor. Let someone else fix her for a while,” Petyr snaps. Just as she’s trying his patience, he’s pushing her to the end of hers.

“It will wait until I say. Every business is scrambling right now. They’re too busy covering their own asses for association to be concerned about a power vacuum,” Sansa replies. “As for what I do in the mean time, that is between myself and whomever I deem necessary. Which, as of right now, does not include either of you. Do tonight’s job, nothing more.”

Umber grumbles inaudibly in the background.

“Care to repeat that Smalljon? It sounded as though you were asking for a ticket straight to the swamplands to deal with the Reeds,” Sansa leans forward, resting her elbow against her knee. Her back pops from remaining stiff for too long. It’s been hours since she got out of this chair, probably since the last time Margaery woke up.

When Margaery’s eyes clench together in her sleep, Sansa quit waiting for an answer. “Keep me posted on our status with Shae. Goodbye.” She hangs up.

Margaery tosses her head one way, then the other. It’s another nightmare. The medication she’s been weening off of combined with her emotional and physical trauma is triggering them. From what Sansa has gathered. They’re horrendous and very, very real to Margaery. It’s part of the reason that Sansa has refused to leave Margaery’s side save for a handful of times. She’s hardly left Margaery for more than a few hours at a time since the Tyrells flew home for Olenna’s funeral.

Margaery had argued with doctors for hours that she should be able to leave for the funeral. Loras and Mace had backed her, but ultimately the doctors stood firm in their belief that Margaery shouldn’t leave. Sansa shared in that belief that Margaery was better off here, much as it pained her to see Margaery in grief and hurting from her grandmother’s death. But Margaery was hardly in a position to walk the hospital floors, let alone fly to Highgarden. For the first few days she was constantly in and out of consciousness. When she was conscious there were times she had no idea where she was or what was going on, thanks to the heavy doses of drugs she as on. Her blood pressure still wasn’t where doctors would have liked it to be by the time her family left.

The coincidence that Margaery woke within hours of Mace learning of Olenna’s death didn’t escape anyone, but no one would dare mention it. Margaery wasn’t in a state in which she could handle more drama than necessary anyway. For someone who was always able to manage her facial expressions under scrutiny and disguise the extremities of her emotions, seeing the utter terror etched on her face when she woke in confusion broke Sansa’s heart.

Sansa had made a move forward to comfort her, against the doctors’ recommendations, but Margaery had flinched away. It was as if she didn’t know her. Or worse—that she was stuck in the time before she and Sansa had reconciled.

She didn’t realize she had injuries until it was too late. She had tried to lift her arm and couldn’t. She nearly twisted her leg in mid-air, unaware that it was caught in a make shift crane of sorts to leverage her wound. She yelped in pain, adding to her confusion.

Sansa takes Margaery’s hand. There’s no longer IV tubes sticking out from it. Her leg doesn’t need to be leveraged anymore. Margaery’s last remaining restraint is sling over her shoulder. Despite the progress that the changes demonstrate, it makes it easier for Margaery to accidentally further injure herself in one of these episodes. She has no control over her actions or reactions. Holding her hand seems to have a soothing effect though.

“Sshhh, ssshhh baby. It’s okay. I’m right here,” Sansa hushes her. She strokes her thumb across the back of Margaery’s hand. Margaery stops thrashing, her breaths even out. Sansa is about to pull back, believing Margaery to be back to a normal sleep, but then Margaery’s eyes flutter open.

“Sans-,” Margaery slurs from sleep. She winces and reaches her god arm across her body to her shoulder, stopping just short of touching it.

Sansa cuts her off before a nurse or one of the Unsullied agents clamoring to interrogate Margaery walk in unannounced. “No baby, it’s me, Alayne.”

Margaery’s hair is matted and tangled on the side of her head. Sansa unthinkingly runs her fingers through the mess in an attempt to make it neater. In other circumstances her hair would have been Margaery’s top priority.

“This stupid sling isn’t doing a thing to help my shoulder,” Margaery bemoans. Her hand slides back across the bed and feels its way to Sansa’s empty hand. Sansa squeezes her hand. She files away the memory of Margaery’s soft smile blooming on her face.

“The sling would work just fine if someone could learn to be still during their dreams.” It’s meant to be a joke, but clearly hits a sore spot when the smile falls far too quickly.

Margaery stares at her hand interlocked with Sansa’s. “They don’t feel like dreams. They’re so real.”

“They’re not real, okay?” Sansa loosens her grip. “It will get better, I promise. Once they get you off this morphine, it will help. And we can find a therapist or two that we can trust if you feel comfortable with that. I think that will do us both good.”

Seven know she could have used one in her teenage years. Therapy could have saved her years of self-blame and stress issues she endured. While she can’t force Margaery to accept any help, providing it is a start. Regardless, Sansa believes that straightening out any residual trust issues she has left buried beneath the layers she’s cultivated will be good for herself and her relationship in the long run.

“Alayne,” Margaery whispers.

“Yeah?”

Margaery squeezes her fingers around Sansa’s hand. “I love you.”

She can’t control the ridiculous grin that spreads across her face. Sansa never doubted Margaery’s love for her, even when Margaery did. To know that Margaery was now sure herself though, Sansa couldn’t describe the pure bliss she felt at the words. If she could, she would play them on repeat all day.

“I love you too,” Sansa is careful to not put any of her own weight on Margaery’s right side as she hugs her. Margaery’s nose is cool to the touch as it brushes Sansa’s neck. She wants to stay just like this holding Margaery, certain that nothing and no one can hurt her. She’s in control and at peace.

All too soon the moment is yanked away from her. The door slams open. Sansa leaps up on instinct, primed punish the intruder who dared disturb Margaery right now. It’s not some sneaky tabloid pap looking for a quick pic to land on the cover of the Red Watch (there’s already been two of those snuffed out by security). No, it’s Ygritte grinning ear to ear in the best mood she’s had in days carrying a box loaded so loaded so full with newspapers and magazines there’s a path leading down the hall and around the corner from Margaery’s room.

“Hospitals are sex free zones Alayne, unless you’re a doc or junior doc. Gotta keep your hands off the patients,” Ygritte bounces past her, bumping her with the edge of the box to plop it on Margaery’s right side, the other side of the bed.

Sansa rolls her eyes. Irritating as the interruption is, Sansa is grateful to give Margaery these distractions on this day of all days. She knows how close Margaery and her grandmother had been. At some point in the day the brunt of the mourning will surely slam in face first. There’s no reason to linger on that anticipation all day.

She watches Ygritte and Margaery go through nearly every publication in the box. They joke about Ygritte’s interviews, the questions she’s asked and her preferential treatment by some of the more desperate news outlets. Every now and then Margaery glances at Sansa and smiles softly in her direction. It’s a confirmation that even though everything is not fine now, it will be.

*********************

Before they’d left, Margaery and Sansa had discussed how to make the trip more of a celebration of her grandmother’s life than a grieving for her death.

The snow complicated plans, but Margaery had thought of ways around the dilemmas it caused. She walked Sansa through Olenna’s greenhouse again. This time they enjoyed the beautiful lilies and hybrid roses her grandmother had grown. They avoided the back. Venturing there would only spur unwanted memories. After they’d warmed up inside and had their fill of flowers, Margaery took Sansa to her grandmother’s favorite bakery. She and the owner had been friends. Olenna had paid of the elderly man’s bank loan when the bank suddenly demanded their loan back in full. Few people knew that side of Olenna-- the gentle, caring side.

From there, Sansa begged Margaery to see the ponds Margaery enjoyed reminiscing on. A quick pit stop at Margaery’s parents’ house for a Loras’s old pair of skates (in case Sansa wanted to do some ice skating) and they’re off.

With her leg still not quite at one hundred percent healthy and her arm still locked up in a sling, Margaery opts to sit on the sidelines. Rather than show off her skills on the iffy ice (Sansa claims its only half frozen and could easily break, though none of the eager skaters heed the warning of born and bred Northerner), Sansa stays by Margaery’s side, building a small family of snowmen.

“This one’s the baby,” Sansa adds the last stick arm to the smallest snowman.

“It’s missing something,” Margaery digs through the snow until she reaches a pebble buried beneath. It’s meant to be a nose for the little guy, but Margaery pushes it too carelessly and its head lops off, obliterating the snow into dust again.

“My snow baby!” Sansa feigns melodrama as she clutches at her chest. “He was too young! Too good!”

Margaery shrugs. “He was the runt of the litter. The rest of them would have taken him out sooner or later.”

“You monster. You’re going to take that back,” Sansa lunges forward playfully tackling Margaery to the ground.

“Ow!” Margaery yelps the moment her shoulder makes contact with the ground. It’s a soft landing, but her shoulder is growing more and more sensitive. She won’t be starting physical therapy on it until after they return home.

“Shit shit shit shit shit!” Sansa scrambles off of her. She gets a hand under Margaery’s mid-arm and helps her sit back up. “I’m sorry! I wasn’t even thinking. That was so stupid.”

The pain begins fading away. “I’m okay,” Margaery sighs. “It was the shock more than anything. No harm, no foul.”

Sansa doesn’t look convinced, but she nods her head. The two of them stare out over the lake, watching teenagers on holiday from a school throw snowballs at each other. Some younger kids with their parents make snow angels on the ground. A few brave souls use make shift items like cardboard boxes to sled down the hill half a mile away.

“It’s probably nothing like Winterfell, but the snow here can be nice,” Margaery murmurs.

“Oh it’s nothing at all like the North,” Sansa agrees. “Pile another foot of snow and you’re beginning to see what it looks like in early winter. The snow back home is thicker too. Not as powdery as this southern snow. But you’re right. It does have a certain charm.”

She misses the North. Margaery hears it more and more in Sansa’s inflection. There’s a hollow longing. Like she’s not unsatisfied and unable to do anything about it.

“I dreamt about home last night,” Sansa continues. “It was snowing. A heavy snow with howling wind. Arya and I were outside looking for firewood. But then the firewood and the snow suddenly disappeared and I was suddenly I was in a candy shop and all the candy bars were labeled with different alphabet letters. I had to put them together to make a password and win a prize. The prize was a new collar for Lady.”

“Interesting…” Margaery says, confused about where this was going. One of the kids in the distance cries hysterically after getting hit in the face with a snowball.

“So, that was my dream. Feel free to talk about anything you dreamt about last night. If you want to,” Sansa scoots a little closer.

Talking is key. The therapist Sansa had arranged for made that blatant to Margaery during every appointment they’d had (four thus far). Initially the vigor with which Sansa approached the topic a therapy surprised Margaery. Yes she had mentioned going, but Margaery hadn’t realized how serious she’d been. It was meant to unbottle her emotions and thoughts. Keep them from getting locked up. Last night though, she had woken in a cold sweat after her dreams. She knew she woke Sansa too, because as she settled back down to sleep again, Sansa wrapped her arm over her back and pulled her closer than she would in a natural state of sleep.

It wouldn’t take much to turn it around on Sansa. A little redirection, the right question about Sansa’s past and Margaery would be in the clear. That won’t change the past though, and it certainly won’t build their relationship to the point that Margaery wants it to be.

Margaery focuses on the icy pond as she says, “It was Jaime again. I dreamed about the last time I talked to him before his death. And blood poured out of a wound in his chest. His eyes rolled back. The ground opened up to swallow him. He grabbed my ankle to pull me down with him. And then I woke up.”

Sansa considers Margaery’s dream, choosing her words carefully before answering. “Have you talked with the maester about Jaime yet?”

Margaery shakes her head. “We haven’t quite reached that point yet.” In her first couple of visits, she danced around the topic of the Lannister ambush. Who was to say that this maester Sansa had found wouldn’t flip on them? He’d wanted to delve straight into that topic, but Margaery had convinced to take a longer, more arduous route through Margaery’s benevolent childhood. He felt alike they were making progress, Sansa was satisfied that she was seeing a professional, and Margaery was finally in control of something again. Everyone won.

“It’s okay to tell him anything, when you get there. He’s on our side.”

Sansa’s phone rings. And rings. Sansa makes no attempt to answer it.

“Sweetling, that might be important,” Margaery nudges her.

“If it’s important now, it will still be important when we’re back at your place in a couple of hours,” Sansa gestures at the phone in her pocket. “I’m enjoying a beautiful afternoon with my amazing girlfriend and I have no desire to interrupt it with a twenty-minute talk with Petyr about which business he should buy out next. I’d much rather talk about nothing with you.”

A southern girl can only last so long in the snow. The next freezing wind gust is Margaery’s last straw. “Let’s go home. I can make some hot cocoa and we can finally watch another episode of Dunk and Egg.”

Margaery gets up.

“I have a confession to make. I may have watched and episode or two when you were out with your parents last night,” Sansa hesitates to get up.

“You’re watching it again, so I hope you at least liked them,” Margaery frowns.

“Oh of course. Especially Egg’s new boyfriend. He’s hilarious,” Sansa casually drops the spoiler.

Margaery’s eyes go wide with anger and shock. “You little…”

Sansa hops to her feet and yanks Margaery toward herself hard for a kiss. Between their chapped lips, the it’s a less than graceful start. Sansa grasps Margaery’s chin though and deepens the kiss, as if trying to apologize for the unwanted information. It’s delightful, but it doesn’t work.

Margaery breaks away and glares at Sansa. She folds her good arm across her chest and waits for a response.

“So…are we nixing the hot cocoa then?” Sansa asks sheepishly.

Margaery turns heel toward the car. “Oh there will be hot cocoa. For me at least. You, on the other hand, will be lucky to even get a hot shower for the rest of the trip.”

Sansa chases her to the car, apologizing and dropping more “spoilers” all the way.

It’s been months since there had been a shred of normalcy between them. Nearly every conversation had some mention of mafias, jail time, murders, spies. There would never be a true “normal” between them again. What happened with the Lannisters would always linger, never truly being put to rest.

Teasing though, that was familiar. So was Dunk and Egg, cuddling on the couch, casual flirting, Sansa knitting all the while. It all came back sitting in her parents’ cozy living room, binge watching a TV show. They could make a new normal.

#in the crosshairs #sansaery #my fics

20 notes · View notes

worldnews-blog · 5 years ago

Link

Corrections officers had not checked in on financier and registered sex offender Jeffrey Epstein for "several" hours before he was found hanging in his cell Saturday, a person familiar with the matter said, just one in a series of missteps in the hours leading up to his death.Officers should have been checking on Epstein, who was being held in a special housing unit of the Metropolitan Correctional Center in New York City, every 30 minutes, and, under normal circumstances, he also should have had a cellmate, according to the person familiar with the matter and union officials representing facility employees.But a person who had been assigned to share a cell with Epstein was transferred on Friday, and - for reasons that investigators are still exploring - he did not receive a new one, the person familiar with the matter said Sunday night.That left Epstein, who had previously been placed on suicide watch, alone and unmonitored \- at least in the hours before his death - by even those officers assigned to guard him.The person familiar with the matter spoke on the condition of anonymity to discuss the investigation.The revelations are sure to increase scrutiny of the Federal Bureau of Prisons and the Metropolitan Correctional Center, a high-rise facility in Manhattan where Epstein, 66, was found unresponsive in his cell Saturday while he was awaiting trial.He was facing federal charges alleging that he sexually abused dozens of girls in the early 2000s. After being found, he was taken to a hospital, where he was pronounced dead.The hanging, which authorities had classified initially as an "apparent suicide," triggered investigations of how such a high-profile inmate, who was supposed to have been carefully monitored, could have died in federal custody.It also caused outrage among his victims and their representatives, who had hoped that Epstein's trial next year would produce the justice they thought he had long evaded.The Federal Bureau of Prisons did not return repeated messages seeking a comment.Barbara Sampson, New York City's chief medical examiner, said her office conducted an autopsy of Epstein's body Sunday but had not yet reached a determination on cause of death, "pending further information."The medical examiner also allowed Michael Baden, a private pathologist, to observe the autopsy at the request of Epstein's representatives, Ms Sampson said.The two corrections officers assigned to watch the special unit in the detention centre where Epstein was being housed were working overtime - one forced to do so by management, the other for his fourth or fifth consecutive day, the president of the local union for staffers said.Serene Gregg, president of the American Federation of Government Employees Local 3148, said the Metropolitan Correctional Center in Manhattan is functioning with less than 70 percent of the needed correctional officers, forcing many to work mandatory overtime and 60- or 70-hour workweeks.She said one of the individuals assigned to watch Epstein's unit did not normally work as a correctional officer but, like others in roles such as counsellors and teachers, was able to do so. She declined to say which one or specify the person's regular role."If it wasn't Mr. Epstein, it would have been somebody else, because of the conditions at that institution," Ms Gregg said. "It wasn't a matter of how it happened or it happening, but it was only a matter of time for it to happen. It was inevitable. Our staff is severely overworked."Ms Gregg said she did not know details of the investigation into Epstein's death and declined to detail her discussions with those working that night.But she said she has long complained about understaffing at the facility, telling superiors, "It's only a matter of time before we have a loss of life." And in Epstein's case, she said, it was possible overwork of officers played a role."It's daunting, mentally, physically. I would feel confident in saying that some of that contributed to the unfortunate death of inmate Epstein," she said, clarifying later that she did not know with certainty whether workload played a role in the incident because she was not privy to details of the investigation.On Sunday, amid inquiries by the FBI, Justice Department's inspector general and New York City medical examiner, questions remained."It's our practice not to comment on ongoing investigations," said John Lavinsky, a spokesman for the Justice Department's inspector general.Epstein was not on suicide watch Saturday before he was found, but because he was held in the facility's special housing unit, he should have been checked on every 30 minutes, according to union officials and a person familiar with the investigation.A person familiar with the matter said that procedure was not being followed, at least according to preliminary information corrections officials gave investigators. Ms Gregg declined to comment on internal security procedures.It was also not clear how much, if any, of the incident or authorities' check-ins was captured on camera. E.O. Young, the national president of the Council of Prison Locals C-33, said that while cameras are prevalent in the facility, he did not believe they generally captured inmates' cells.The Federal Bureau of Prisons said Saturday that lifesaving measures were "initiated immediately" after Epstein was found, and then emergency responders were summoned.Epstein had been placed on suicide watch after a July 23 incident in which he was found in his cell with marks on his neck \- which subjected him to near constant monitoring and daily psychological evaluations, according to people familiar with the case.But he was taken off that about a week later and brought to the special housing unit, where there was a higher level of security, but not constant monitoring.Before the incident, Epstein had a cellmate: Nicholas Tartaglione, a former police officer in custody on murder and narcotics charges. But Mr Young, the national union president, said Epstein was in a cell alone immediately before his death.Mr Young said he was not certain why Epstein was in the cell alone, as the Bureau of Prisons has moved recently to make sure fewer inmates are housed on their own.He said there was some speculation after the July 23 incident that Epstein was trying to get away from Tartaglione, whom he feared, and he believed that - at least for a time - Epstein had another cellmate after coming off suicide watch.Mr Young asserted that in the facility's general population, Epstein also probably would have been a target, and that there was only so much officers could do to prevent him from harming himself.But Mr Young said, even in Epstein's case, correctional officers face a grim reality."We can't ever stop anyone who is persistent on killing themselves," Young said. "The only thing the bureau can do is delay that."Young said he and other officials had long been raising concerns as the Trump administration had imposed a hiring freeze and budget cuts on the Bureau of Prisons."All this was caused by the administration," Mr Young said.Spokesmen for the White House did not immediately respond to a request for comment. In congressional testimony earlier this year, Attorney General William Barr conceded that the bureau was "short" about 4,000 or 5,000 employees and said he had lifted the hiring freeze and was trying to ensure a steady pipeline of new officers to replace those who leave."I think this is an area where we have stumbled," Mr Barr said.Though Epstein's death will short-circuit his trial, the U.S. Attorney in Manhattan said Saturday that authorities were continuing to explore those who might have conspired with Epstein.The financier had a star-studded list of acquaintances and friends \- including former president Bill Clinton and President Donald Trump \- although investigators' focus in the past has been on the less-famous people who worked with Epstein and have been accused of helping procure girls for him.Epstein had pleaded guilty in 2008 to two state charges of soliciting prostitution to resolve similar sexual abuse allegations as part of an agreement that has been widely criticised as overly lenient.The deal allowed Epstein to spend just 13 months in jail and be released regularly for work, and it spared those who worked with him from prosecution.It was approved by Alex Acosta, who was then the US Attorney in Miami. Mr Acosta would go on to serve as labour secretary in the Trump administration but resigned from his post last month after federal prosecutors in New York charged Epstein, renewing questions about the earlier deal.The Washington Post

from Yahoo News - Latest News & Headlines https://ift.tt/2Z71DTm

#Blogger

0 notes

teeky185 · 5 years ago

Link

from Yahoo News - Latest News & Headlines https://ift.tt/2Z71DTm

#latest news #Yahoo News - Latest News & Headlines

0 notes

wallythayer · 6 years ago

Text

7 Self-Care Strategies at Work

If it feels like you spend more time working than ever, you probably do — and you’re not alone.

A 2014 Gallup poll notes that American full-time workers logged an average of 47 hours per week; those connected digitally to their offices often worked even longer. A report commissioned by the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation in 2012 found that public-school teachers typically work 53 hours per week. And factory workers frequently put in 12-hour days.

Another study indicates that 52 percent of U.S. workers didn’t take all their paid vacation days in the previous year, leaving an average of more than a week unused; 23 percent did not take a vacation at all.

Meanwhile, inflation-adjusted wages have remained essentially flat since 1978, while the portion of workers with employer-provided health insurance (from their own job or a family member’s) fell from 77 percent in 1980 to 69 percent in 2013.

“Productivity increases have only led to average hours worked per week creeping up and up,” says workplace-trends analyst John de Graaf, editor of Take Back Your Time. This suggests that real wages — in terms of hourly remuneration — are declining.

It’s not surprising, then, that many employees feel burned out. A 2017 Gallup poll reveals that more than half of the full-time workers surveyed admitted they were “not engaged” at work, paying only partial attention in the place where they spend the most time, while 16 percent reported being “actively disengaged.”

What’s going on?

“There are a couple of issues here, and one of them is money pressure,” says financial educator and advocate Ruth Hayden. “Worrying about money makes work so much more stressful and unhealthy.

“The other is the work itself — the pressure on people to perform. I keep hearing how hard everyone is working, how they’re feeling like they have a job and a half.”

Most of us are familiar with the increasing pressure of the always-on workplace, where the workday and workweek never really end. This skewed balance often leaves us frazzled and unfulfilled.

“If you were to design a workplace reflecting all the stuff we know about how the brain works, it wouldn’t look anything like today’s open-plan, distraction-amplifying spaces,” says Alex Soojung-Kim Pang, author of Rest: Why You Get More Done When You Work Less.

As for the hours we work, Pang says this: “Americans have a long history of valuing overwork. One of the ways to get ahead is to simply outwork everybody else.”

While none of us can single-handedly change the rules or the culture, we can revise how we relate to them. The following strategies can help you take care of your health and spirit on the job.

Bring Your Body to Work

When a workplace culture encourages long hours and competition, taking breaks to move and eat quality food throughout the day may not feel like a priority. Yet meditation teacher Sharon Salzberg, author of Real Happiness at Work, stresses the importance of listening to our bodies, whether we’re loading boxes or spending long hours at a desk.

“The human body is not designed to expend energy continuously,” explains Salzberg. “Our bodies regularly tell us to take a break, but we often override these signals and counter our fatigue with stimulants, including coffee, sugar, and so on.”

“People assume that being ‘knowledge workers’ means we have to interact with a screen all day, and that our bodies don’t matter, and that every moment of the day is like every other,” adds Pang. “None of this is true. There are biological rhythms to attention and creativity, and we are more productive if we recognize and work with them.”

To increase your focus at work, pay attention to those rhythms. If you’re sharpest in the morning, aim to schedule important meetings before noon and save repetitive tasks for the late-afternoon lull. This can increase your productivity — and leave you with more energy at day’s end.

And try to take a brief break every 90 minutes or so throughout the workday; this gives your brain a chance to recharge. Just standing outside and feeling the breeze for a moment can be restorative. (For more on why, read Take a Break.)

Finally, while scarfing down lunch at the desk as you frantically check email can now seem normal, our bodies usually disagree: They often rebel with digestive distress or poor sleep.

Even if all your coworkers eat quickly or skip lunch altogether, try reclaiming your meal break anyway. If you habitually eat in a rush, take a walk outside for some fresh air before lunch. Bring food from home and eat somewhere without a screen in front of you.

Personalize Your Work Environment

Unless you work strictly from home, your workplace likely reflects someone else’s design tastes. Yet research shows that empowering workers to decorate their environments can improve energy, mood, and even efficiency.

In his book Messy: The Power of Disorder to Transform Our Lives, economist Tim Harford describes a 2010 study in England that observed how recruits performed tasks in differently decorated environments, some that were spare and sterile, others that they could arrange themselves. Not surprisingly, the participants preferred spending time in the spaces they’d been invited to design. They also completed more work in the “empowered” spaces than in those decorated without their input.

“In a modern office environment, there can be good reasons why people aren’t in full control of their work — say they have to respond to their customers and boss,” Harford says. This demand for responsiveness, however, requires energized and engaged workers, and that’s all the more reason to give them control of their environments where possible.

A personalized environment will mean different things to different people: It could be a special stone on the desk or a full cubicle redecoration, complete with rug and designer lamp. If your employer doesn’t allow this, bring a framed photo or two to set up and take down each day. The objects matter less than the act of exercising some influence over your surroundings.

Set Clear Boundaries

Digital communication offers several benefits; it allows many of us to work remotely, for example. But it comes with a major caveat: Work follows us everywhere. Setting boundaries is crucial for our well-being and the health of our relationships, as anyone who’s ever interrupted a conversation to respond to a work email knows.

Good boundaries are also important for productivity.

“When we attempt to focus on multiple tasks simultaneously, what happens is that we switch back and forth between tasks, paying less attention to both,” explains Salzberg. This often means tasks take longer and we make more mistakes.

Working only during business hours protects the quality of your attention, both on the job and off. Set a firm end to your workday. If you’re tempted to check email after hours, try setting limits on devices. Shut off your phone during family time. Use an app, such as Freedom, to freeze your online access for up to eight hours. And above all, take all your vacation days — and leave work behind.

Manage Your Meetings

Meetings have become a huge time-eater in today’s workplace. More than half of the office workers surveyed in a 2017 poll labeled “wasteful meetings” as the biggest obstacle to getting their primary work done. A few simple measures can help:

Conduct your next meeting while standing up. People tend to be sharper when they’re not sitting. They’ll often make their points more efficiently, perhaps because no one wants to stand around all day.

Try scheduling your next meeting for half the time you’d normally take; see if it helps improve focus and efficiency.

Set a clear agenda, and check items off the list as you proceed.

Be selective about invitations. If someone’s presence isn’t crucial to a project, assume his or her time is better spent elsewhere.

Make it acceptable (and shame-free) to call out those who go off point, repeat something already noted, or process out loud.

End on time.

Communicate Compassionately

Most of us have a colleague we find challenging. While we usually can’t control who gets hired, we can control how we communicate — including with those who trip our triggers.

One useful approach for both workplace and personal relationships is called Nonviolent Communication (NVC). Developed in the 1960s by the late psychologist and mediator Marshall Rosenberg, PhD, NVC is based on the premise that all human behavior stems from universal needs and that a compassionate approach can free up energy wasted in conflict.

The process has four steps:

Observe a conflict without generalization or judgment.

Identify feelings without attaching blame.

Locate the universal human need at play.

Request — rather than demand —a positive outcome.

Instead of demanding a distracted colleague’s attention, for example, try expressing a need for shared focus in that moment. Or rather than complaining to a coworker because he’s always late for meetings, tell him that when he’s late it feels as if he’s not prioritizing the project.

This approach leaves room for mutual problem-solving. Perhaps someone who’s late is having transportation issues; someone whose attention wanders may be overloaded with tasks.

“Reframing in this way helps us to move from a victim position to an empowered position that increases our choices and our compassion,” says psychologist and leadership coach Yvette Erasmus, PsyD, LP. “And we rehumanize people we’d previously seen as ‘difficult.’”

Salzberg points out that good communication at work also includes how we talk to ourselves.

“We often lie to ourselves about our true feelings,” she explains. “We believe that if we tell ourselves the scary truth, we’ll be forced to explode our lives. This paranoia about being fully honest fosters unhappiness in the workplace.”

Still, Salzberg believes that honesty will lead to more peace at work, not less.

“I have a friend who described herself as someone who could never say no,” she says. When the friend spent time in meditation reflecting on times she wanted to say no but didn’t, “she would feel this near-panic rise up in her — and she learned that was her signal to say, ‘I’ll have to get back to you on that later.’ Then, once she had some space, she could say no when she needed to.”

Honor Your Values

Finding purpose at work is crucial to avoiding burnout, yet many workplaces restrict how employees dress, act, even communicate. It can be tough to find a sense of meaning when it feels as if your every move is being managed.

Still, according to some experts, finding purpose can be as simple as paying attention to your breath.

“There’s a saying: Live short moments many times,” says Salzberg.

“Don’t pick up the phone on the first ring. Let it ring three times and breathe. These purposeful pauses are just a way of returning to yourself and the moment, of stepping away from the pressure and the chaos, and of reuniting with yourself and your values.”

Salzberg also recommends reframing how we view our jobs, which is more than making the best of a bad situation. When we decide what makes our work meaningful, we’re better able to express our deep values, even within the job’s constraints.

“I understand that one of the greatest sources of happiness at work is a sense of meaning, but sometimes the meaning isn’t going to be in the job description,” she says. “Take someone who works in a call center fielding complaints. It may not be the job of her dreams, and on many levels might be really difficult, but she can find meaning in helping someone have a better day and treating them with love and respect.”

Know Your Exit Strategy

Human dignity depends on feeling some agency and control, and a healthy relationship with work means overcoming the sense of being trapped in a job. Hayden works with clients to reframe their careers, designing a résumé that focuses on their entire professional self rather than a dry biography.

“Rather than thinking they’re stuck — they don’t get paid enough and they can’t stand it — we talk about how to use their current position as leverage for the next one,” Hayden says. “I have them make a résumé that lists what they know how to do and what they’ve done, rather than what companies they’ve worked for.”

She recommends splitting your résumé into sections, such as “software and technology” or “education and literacy,” with bullets under each section enumerating your skills and experience in that area.

“People start to realize how smart they are,” she notes, “and where they can head as they think bigger.”

De Graaf suggests a similar process of taking stock of your resources and deciding what’s most important to you. He uses the metaphor of packing for a backpacking journey.

“The backpacker has to ask what’s essential,” he explains. “Usually, the big problem is that the person tries to bring too much stuff. America has a huge backpack right now — it’s struggling under it; it’s falling over. And it’s thinking that the answer is to put more stuff into the backpack, which also means we’re working longer and harder.”

In other words, if you’re holding on to a miserable job strictly because it pays a lot and then spending a lot to soothe your shattered soul, you might consider lightening your load.

Ultimately, the workplace is a meeting ground for humans where all our failings, idiosyncrasies, and blind spots are played out for 40-plus hours every week. Practicing self-care in how we conduct ourselves and communicate with others allows us to find more positive, constructive ways of interacting with our jobs — which is to say, our lives. And what could be more valuable than that?

Self-Care for the Self-Employed

Carving out an independent path as a freelancer, consultant, or entrepreneur can be an exhilarating journey toward self-realization. But self-employment comes with its own sources of stress and worry. These are a few best practices for maintaining your balance.

Create a routine. Self-employed people can get sucked into long hours that turn into cycles of burnout. When possible, set regular hours and create a dedicated workspace in your home or elsewhere (see below) that you can leave when you need to recharge.

Build in rest and exercise. You’re writing your own calendar, so schedule daily exercise, regular meals, and the occasional nap to restore your creativity.

Make a budget. Income can be erratic: Create a monthly budget reflecting how much you absolutely need to earn to cover housing, food, recreation, healthcare, and other basic expenses. Hayden recommends setting aside several months’ worth of these costs so you feel more room to breathe. If you suspect you’re falling short, devote some time each week to reaching out to new business prospects or clients.

Get out of the house. Working only at home can be distracting. Locate the best coffee shops and libraries where you can put in productive hours. And look into coworking spaces — many have flexible leasing plans and can be great places for finding new clients and cultivating the social benefits of the traditional workplace.

This originally appeared as “On the Clock” in the March 2019 print issue of Experience Life.

Get the full story at https://experiencelife.com/article/7-self-care-strategies-at-work/

#brain

0 notes