Just Keep Golfing

First, THANK YOU to all of you who voted in the last few hours that I should Just Keep Swimming. I appreciate this feedback. Blogging is weirdly therapeutic to me and I hoped it was just a smidge entertaining, too!

I'm happy to report that things are going pretty well in Chicagoland. I still feel completely overwhelmed by my job, but the overwhelmed feelings are becoming normal now. And something else I've noticed in the executive world, is that they never tell you that you're doing a good job. You hear about it when you make mistakes, but no news is generally considered good news. This is an adjustment for me, because I like knowing I'm on the right track.

I get a small break (of sorts) tomorrow, as it's the first of three all-day golf outings for the hospital. I admitted my lack of golfing ability and was immediately assigned to the "pep squad." I'll get to ride around in a golf cart, passing out water and St. Fozzie's paraphernalia to 188 doctors, administrators, and prominent community members. While I would normally brush off such an assignment, I'm grateful they're not making me golf. There aren't enough golf balls in the world and besides, I know a softball swing, not a golf swing. I was told, however, that I have to actually golf at the next two events. Drat!

And even though I'm not golfing tomorrow, I *still* worried about my outfit. All I have here in Chicagoland is suits, fancy shirts, and one pair of khaki's that I wear to church every Sunday. Oh, and a pair of way-short shorts, but they won't work. Sister Lourdes will be in attendance and I might be sent to Hell.

So after the softball game tonight (yes, it was 98 degrees in the shade, speaking of Hell), I scurried over to my neighborhood Kohl's for something decent to wear on the golf course. I found a pair of knee-length shorts and a cute nautical shirt that will totally work. But as I was standing in line, a woman tapped me on the shoulder. She says, "Excuse me, do you work at St. Fozzie's?" I nodded, acutely aware of my disheveled hair, running make-up, and probably not-so-wonderful aroma as my shirt was still damp from sweat. Ignoring this, she answered, "I'm Katie and I work in Radiology!" Great! Her next comment? "You look so different in plain clothes!"

Um, yeah. Usually when you see me, I'm in a suit and y'know, like, SHOWERED?! Oh well, at least that will be a fun rumor to hear when it finally gets back to me in a few days.