Now there's a shocker. I get back to New York and suddenly I'm too busy to write my name, much less anything on here. And either I pass out at 9 or I can't fall asleep until 4. Two days after I got back, work sent me to Philly for the day for another client meeting. My friend Mark thinks that they're just trying to test me. "You're jetlagged? Awesome. Go to Philadelphia. And now...wrestle this python! And juggle! On one leg! Bravo!"
I think he may be on to something.
I'm in the middle of that phase that I hit with all of my jobs. I'm bored. I've done all the new stuff I can reasonably expect to do, and from here on out, it's going to be a lot more of exactly the same thing. Except more and more of it. More until I break from the strain of doing the job that should reasonably be distributed among five people. But I'm a worker bee now. I'll keep doing it because it's my job. And, to be honest, I'll keep doing it because I don't know what else to do instead, and even if I did, I still feel an obligation to the company and to my coworkers, and because I've put in a lot of work to make our product what it is.
Eyeroll. One a.m. ramblings. Nothing that a day on the beach and some really excellent sex wouldn't cure. And because I refuse to get any more maudlin, I'll just take it on faith that either or both of those things are just around the corner.