. . .for getting paid.

I’m sure I’ve already mentioned how hellish these past two weeks have been, at least with regards to work.  And of course, that means it’s become hellish with regards to life in general since, as one might easily assume, employment consumption of too much time equates directly to having too little time for everything else.  And so it is.

I can’t measure the number of hours I’ve worked since Monday two weeks ago.  I even had to work last weekend.  Now this weekend is no different.

Although I can still manage the veterinarian appointments I have scheduled, and although I can still address some of my various necessities as planned, tomorrow evening brings yet another critical need for me to work some number of hours.  Even more disheartening is that several of my critical projects are falling behind due to these unforeseen catastrophes that have kept me chained to the ol’ paycheck writers.

Damn it!

There are times—many and multiplying—when I can’t help but wish I was a technological automaton, one capable only of rote enactment of skills that scraped nothing more than the “capable” end of the spectrum.  But that’s just not so.

Having been found “more than capable” by many, I’m now being called upon to take on more and more responsibilities, to manage highly visible and critical tasks, and to guide others to ensure priorities are met with experience and knowledge.

I’m more than spent.  I’m more than fatigued.  Anxiety and stress greet me each morning and tuck me in at night.  I truly don’t know how long I can tolerate this.  It’s precisely the kind of thing I wanted to avoid, the kind of thing that steals from me every moment that should be personal.