I got back mid-August from England and have been eyes deep in work work work.
To be fair, whilst I was in England, I was waist high in work work work.
I need to do something about the amount of works in my work.
Unfortunately, the only thing standing in my way is me.
Even my company is game.
We recently moved over to a flexible time off system, which means I can take off as much time as I want, as often I feel necessary, and without explanation.
Since that was implemented, yeah, I think I’ve used maybe 8 hours of that flex time.
The trouble, and this is a nice problem to have, is that my work is also my passion.
I can’t help it, I like what I do and I do it well.
More than any person I have ever met, my work and I fit each other like a pair of Gucci gloves.
When I make something, my work proudly shows it off. On a grander scale than just art on a refrigerator.
My work gives me confidence. It makes me learn. It improves my communcation skills. It gives me responsibilities and stability. It promotes me. It’s always there.
And it fulfills the creative void left after I moved on from being a failed painter, and boy do I happily suffer for this Art.
Even more, my work has been a go-to spot when I’ve needed respite from the challenges of being a Human Being who must interact with other Humans Beings because we have the same parents.
Yeah, the five us, as tight as we were growing up, all seem to be getting a bit much for each other now.
At this point, I cannot fathom how we collectively ever made it out the door for school every morning.
My work is a combination of cerebrial and joy, and sometimes a physical pain in my wrist and neck when I stay too long at the keyboard.
My subconscious is also in on my passion, because in my dreams I’m hanging out with famous people … talking about databases, web pages, informational graph ideas and charts.
Just last night it was me, Prince William, King Charles and SQL table index rebuilds.
A social misfit and uncomforable in crowds, I am absolutely that person who turns out the lights and will not open the door on Halloween.
But at work?
Why, I am a one-woman dazzling firecracker, performing centre stage to a packed house … for hours and hours and hours.
All that being said, and that was quite a bit, I’m burning my candles way too often, and know I need to do something about my tipped scales.
And I’m taking this directive about as well as a petulant teenager, or a toddler being forced to take a nap.
Truly a rebel without a cause.
What’d I say? It’s a nice problem to have.