That meant that Wednesday and yesterday/Thursday morning, my day immediately started -- and, frankly, immediately went off the rails -- by catching up on the loose ends from the day before. I have gotten into a routine (that might not be the right word) whereby all of the crush of work I know I have waiting for me at the start of the day I will at least "touch" before I go to lunch. For that reason -- and also because I want to delay my morning break until after Stephanie Miller, and also I because I am tuckered out in the middle of the afternoon and not the start -- I don't do lunch until six hours after I get into work. I think a lot of people will see that and say I'm insane. My supervisor has warned me that my boss will get antsy if he sees me taking lunch that far into my day/that close from the end of my day. I just don't feel as though I could drop what I'm doing exactly four hours into my shift. There is a ton of crap I don't get around to until I'm well deep into the day. Hell, I was catching up on so much old stuff on Tuesday that I didn't get around to doing the new stuff until after I got back from lunch!
It has been a ridiculous week. If I were still relatively green in this position, I would be freaking out and getting very, very upset with my supervisor, my boss, my company, and especially myself for putting myself through this absurd meatgrinder. But now I've been at this for a while and some of the work I know how to deal with (but definitely not all; the curveballs I've faced are completely new and foreign to me, and so I have relied on my supervisor to do them, quite frankly), I'm non-plussed. I'm working late at The Fourth Department, well, forever, or at least until they decide another person will be assigned to do some of the work every day.
Not only was this week stressful because of the weird problems I faced, but also because there were some things I wanted to do in the evening, and the workload in fact jeopardized me doing those things. On Tuesday I bought a ticket in advance to see Joy Ride (I like the representation, but it's too raunchy for me, sorry) at 8. I thought that was going to give me enough time, but I worked right up to 6:30, and I promised my parents that I'd be home to eat a late dinner -- which, to be honest, was garbage because Mother made that Buddhist vegetable crap, a whole bowl of which I had to eat. I needed to slather it in fish sauce to eat all that, and then I had to chew slowly because it was so distasteful. Got to the movie just in time, thankfully. And on Wednesday, I was too late to get to the Black Hart to catch the start of the Gold Cup Semifinal between the U. S. and Panama because I was too delayed at work. If I had only been able to leave eight Minutes earlier. ...
At the beginning of the week I didn't plan on going to one of my favorite secret speakeasies at the end of the week. I'm still going through money like nobody's business. But after seeing the clock tick to 5:30 and seeing my co-worker, who gets in an hour after me, leave work before me once again, and feeling my heart pound because I want to watch the beginning of the soccer Match but can't ... well, I gave in and decided Wednesday that I would go to a speakeasy for the first time in months tonight/Friday night. I deserve it after this week of hell. And it'd be perfect if I went straight from work to there to grab a drink. It'd be 7 o'clock -- great way to start my weekend and reward myself for reaching the finish line without worrying about a line of people to get in (at least I think).
But then the damnedest thing happened at work yesterday/Thursday: It was sane and reasonable. I had work, but a manageable amount. And most of the loose ends that were lying in wait for me in the morning were resolved throughout the day. I stayed only an extra 20 minutes. Now yesterday would have been the day to have planned something in the evening.
But with this psychological burden that lifted off my shoulders and flew far, far away yesterday -- well, the stress I felt I needed to relieve with a stiff drink is gone. So I ask myself: Do I really need to go to this speakeasy? Thursday wasn't bad, and although the other three days were terrible, I powered through. I can't hit the bottle after every rough day, right? So why not just chill at home? Why can't that be my reward for reaching the week's finish line?
Nah! I want to treat myself after Monday through Wednesday. Plus, I haven't been to a speakeasy in a while, and I want to feel cool again. Plus, who knows, Friday might be a steaming pile of crap like Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. So a drink for me!
No comments:
Post a Comment