Irish coffee

Irish coffee personifies everything about my honeymoon to me. One of my favorite moments in Ireland took place on our second to last day in Dublin. Jeff and I had spent the entire day trekking through the city in the absolute pouring rain, my hood squinched up around my face and both of our jeans soaked up to our knees. The first ten days of our trip had been been absolutely beautiful, but of course we had to experience a torrential downpour at some point or it wouldn't have felt authentically Irish. Since it was late October, of course the rain was freezing cold as it pelted our heads and sloshed up against our sneakers...we had to seek coverage under random buildings where homeless people huddled in their blankets among their belongings.

We found McDaid's pub on Harry Street just in time--a longtime literary hangout of some of Ireland's writers and playwrights from the 1940s. It was the coziest little bar with such an intimate feel. Dim lighting, candles flickering on the tables, five or six tables pushed up against the side of the wall, and my warm Irish coffee. I recall sitting there with Jeff's arm around me with the rain and wind crazily howling outside and thinking, "This is it. This is love."

Tonight we went to Hanafin's, the local Irish pub in New London. I ordered an Irish coffee and Jeff ordered his standard Magner's hard cider. He put his arm around me and we quietly observed people and sang along to the music as the band played loudly. The Tullamore whiskey warmed my throat and I thought back to Ireland and how content we were then...and I realized that I love him even more now. Whether we're in Ireland or Connecticut, it doesn't matter, because when I put my arms around him, he feels like home.

Creepy.

Last night I slept over my parents' house because my mom and I were driving to a baby shower in Concord, MA this morning. The bed in my old room is actually the same bed that they bought me when I was three. The same bed that they hooked a yellow gingham guardrail to so that I didn't roll out and flop onto the floor. The same bed that had been moved from our old house to our new house and also positioned throughout various places in my bedroom over the decades. Same mattress, too. So you can imagine it's fairly stiff and uncomfortable after...let's see...25 years.

Anyway, I spent the entire night tossing and turning, dreaming about work and Jeff and rain and some strange hotel and three caterpillars on my pillow (in the dream, not for real!). I woke up this morning and wondered "What the hell could caterpillars possibly represent in a dream?" I looked it up online and I don't think I could have been more surprised by the accuracy of the definition:

Caterpillar
To see a caterpillar in your dream, signifies a stage in your own personal growth and development where you are on your way, but have not yet reached your goal.

Now I am not one to believe everything that I read, but that thought has certainly been going through my mind lately, both inside my head and out. I'm just trying to figure out how my mind was subconsciously able to transform that thought into three caterpillars and send them to my dream hotel pillow. Very random. The brain is a tricky and interesting thing.

I'm the only one who cried yesterday afternoon when our "class" packed up all of the materials that we've acquired over the past eight weeks--binders, notebooks, handouts, Valentine's Day cards, pens, highlighters, candy, photos--and headed upstairs to the fourth floor to find our individual cubicles. It was embarrassing to say the least, but thankfully I've been with these people long enough for them to know that I'm not usually a basket case, and that if I'm crying it's probably for a good reason. I seriously must be the most sensitive person I know which isn't necessarily a bad thing, but it's definitely something to contend with. I become attached to everything and everyone and every experience, and for some reason I find transitions hard even though I know that this is only going to continue to be a wonderful experience.

I can't say enough about the quality of the people that I work with. Our class has become really tight which I think is only natural. We've worked together, bounced ideas off of each other, complimented each other, provided moral support or a shoulder to cry on when things became frustrating (no, I'm not the only one who cried during the course of the eight weeks! ;), and ate lunch together every single day. I know that they all have my back because yesterday we were at happy hour after officially moving to the floor, and I got teary again. Wait, wait, there's a good reason for this. Remember I had written that there were only four of us ICs, and that we had been banished to one room towards the beginning of training without a Survivor buff? Well, obviously the four of us stuck together and developed this amazing rapport...through humor, teasing, assisting, and once again, bouncing ideas back and forth. We found out last Friday that Alan ("Ace") is moving to the Hartford office. Alan is hilarious. He provides the comic relief in every situation, he is the one who continuously called me Tarabyte even when it became less popular, and his key phrase whenever I would respond correctly to a question or give him advice was "You're good. You're good" which he delivered in such a deadpan way while pointing at me. Anyway, he had to leave HH early to go to another function, and I became teary. Alan gave me a hug, Emily kept saying "She's so sweet, I love this girl," I heard someone else say that I care so much about each and every person, and Samantha told us that I was making everyone else cry. Frank leaned over to me and patted my head and told me that I'm a sweet girl for caring so much...I mean these people are so supportive, and the fact that they were truly there for me meant a lot.

I stayed out later than mostly everyone and danced with some of the people who are already established on the floor at Aetna. They were so friendly and accepting, and even took my hand to lead me out to the dance floor. I think that every career move I've made so far in my life has brought me out of my shell a bit more. The Tara I knew when I was growing up would never have been confident enough to dance in front of people, to tease them, and to just let go. But this move especially has allowed me to grow as a person, both personally and professionally. I am incredibly happy and satisfied with my job in a way that I never thought possible. I have found the place where I belong and I have found an amazing group of colleagues and friends as well.

When I was still at the bar (after a lot the people from my class left), I received a voicemail from Diana asking if I was driving home or if I was still there, or if I was okay...and she said that she wanted to know that I was all right, or that she'd worry about me. Then around midnight I received a text from Edgar saying "I hope you are ok. I should have stayed" and another one around 1:00, Samantha texted me and said "Are you okay?" They are awesome. Each and every one of them. I can't believe how much I have come to care for all of them in such a short time. I didn't even know these people at Christmas or New Year's...and now they are so important in my life.

I think that's all for now. Unfortunately I have a pretty bad sore throat this morning and I have a feeling it's the beginning of a cold. But here's to a relaxing, rainy day of hanging out in sweats, a long-sleeved t-shirt and my messy hair pulled back by a headband. I plan on catching up on all of the TV shows I missed over the past week (working on our trade show and studying for the 3-hour final exam!), and maybe going to CVS later to get some meds. Other than that, I've got nothing but that's fine with me. I'm content to just sit back and relax. It was a long, challenging, and wonderful eight weeks.