Something.
I took the day off today. By “took the day off” I mean I scribbled “off” on the little board at my office that says when we’ll be back in, and then didn’t physically end up at the office the next day. I did, however, worry about work, answer emails regarding work issues, and make a few phone calls. So while the workaholic in me defines today as a “day off” due to the fact I spent hours sleeping in between all of these activities and I actually (!) feel guilty about that– strictly speaking, it was not.
Fridays are traditionally my day off at work because there are so many Saturday events/programs that come with my job. It is not an ideal day off, because it doesn’t really allow for a true weekend, no one else is free on a Friday, and there are a million ways that work has a way to sneak into the day if I am feeling just the slightest guilt over all there is to do.
It has become clear that I am in desperate need of an assistant. I haven’t gotten one yet because, 1) I don’t really like anyone I’ve interviewed for the job; 2) knowing the sensitive financial state of this little NonProfit has a way of inspiring the White Knight in me to put off asking for help as long as possible; and 3) NewBoss works extremely limited part time hours that follow no discern-able schedule so it’s been hard to get authorization when her attention and time is so focused on the need-to-have-now items like seeing that I get a paycheck next Friday and learning where the bathrooms are.
Anymore than a week without seeing BestNieceEver seems to make me cranky. I thought about going out there today but was too tired. I could go out Saturday night or Sunday possibly, but even then, much as I love the time there, it isn’t really time for ME. When I fill up what little time is left not working with time spent at my Sister’s, time spent going through drive-thrus, and time spent sleeping off my exhaustion– there isn’t time for dishes or haircuts or reading or trips or seeing shows. Life becomes something to get through.
Alcoholics have sponsors to call when they feel this way, or when they feel trapped into their addiction or tempted to throw away the quality of their lives in pursuit of that familiar chemical rush– I need to get me one of those. Maybe I don’t need an assistant for work but an assistant for life. If I were really wealthy I would totally hire a maid and a cook and have someone make phone calls for me and tell me “time to go to the gym now.”
I am inordinately blessed in seven thousand different ways. I just want more.
