Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been nine days since my last timesheet.
I shake my head—harder to do than it sounds since I’m lying in bed. As is its wont, my subconscious has been busy overnight, but what’s this first-thought-upon-waking all about? But wait, as the ‘ShamWow!’ guy says, There’s more!
Hi. My name is Isabel. I’m a workaholic.
Hi, Isabel.
Yikes. The confessional, ShamWow!, and an AA meeting, all of which I know only from TV and all rolled into my first 30 seconds awake. What’s been going on overnight?
And then I remember.
It’s Sunday morning, my first day since the beginning of the month with absolutely no work planned.
It’s Sunday morning, the morning after the night before when I ‘downed tools’ at 9 PM and filled in my timesheet to see my total hours for the month-to-date go to 88, including travel time.
And it’s Sunday morning, when I religiously post my blog. Well, when I usually post my blog, since this past nine days has been fully occupied and then some with editing, rewriting, formatting, editing, rewriting, and cutting-to-client-prescribed-length, without end. Amen.
My helpful subconscious, apparently, has been working overnight to rectify this omission, to supply this missing blog post. Unfortunately, she’s more executive than executive assistant. All she’s done is come up with two lead-in lines (How hard can it be from there?) rather than a tidy package of, oh, say, 700 spell-checked words, quietly slipped onto my nightside table. It’s hard to find good help these days. Where’s Rumpelstiltskinnette when you need her? (Which cultural allusion should I use? This is a Pick-Your-Own Allusion site, today, folks: You decide. Me, I’m tired, and I can write but not edit when I’m tired: something about all those decisions.)
Anyway.
Whether working too hard is sin, sickness, or shitty decision, I don’t know. I do know that what passes for ‘too hard’ is less these days than it used to be.
But wait, there’s more! Call right now, and we’ll double your hours. We can’t do this all day, you know.
I can still do it all day, all right. I just can’t do it all week the way I used to.
