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Friday, January 11, 2008

Sometimes I overanalyze, and sometimes that leads to feelings I donít especially endorse. If I think too much about how I spend my time during the day, I might feel a bit guilty that I donít keep grinding away for eight hours at the pile of paperwork that I know (I know) needs to be finished. Any guilt I might feel for, say, taking off during the day to find okra for the gumbo Iím making tomorrow is assuaged when the Boss faxes me a three-page letter to type a few minute before six on a dark and dreary Friday night.

Itís not just that I make up for the loss time by working extra hours. Thatís the easiest way to explain why I shouldnít feel guilty, and I use it a lot. But thereís this, too: January and July are my busiest months of the year, because of reports and tax returns that have to be done during those months.

July is a difficult month, but January is exponentially worse, for the simple reason that the days are short in January and long in July. I donít function as well after dark, and it gets dark in the middle of the day this time of year. I react badly to a fax that comes in at six in the evening, after Iíve pretty much given up on getting anything more done that day.

But I did it. I typed the letter and all its several revisions and faxed them back like the loyal (and guilt-ridden) office drone that I am. And I got an appreciative phone call from him a few minutes later, so I knew that even if Iíd fallen short of my own modest standards, Iíd satisfied the person whose opinion counts even more. Thatís a gratifying feeling, although I do feel a little guilty about it.




7 January 2008

Jumping cloud.



After a day of perfect, crystal clear phone service, I went ahead and canceled the repair order for tomorrow. Itís hard to justify having a technician come out to look for a problem that doesnít exist. More to the point, I didnít want to be tied down all day Saturday waiting for someone to show up. The automated phone call I got last night told me to be home from 8:00 am to 7:00 pm. And it was that ď8:00 amĒ that was the final straw. The day I see 8:00 am on a Saturday morning, there had better be ice cream, at the very least. Maybe even cake.




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One year ago: Anonymous
"No longer do I have to interrupt my work day to try to explain to strangers that I canít repair their Icee machine or counsel them about their ADHD or expedite their insurance claim."


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