I’ve reached a conclusion.
I work too much.
It’s kind of hard to tell if I am giving up on everything, or if I am being reasonable. Such a fine line.
I could probably work until midnight every night and have plenty to do. And my boss expects a lot of me. I have a lot of responsibility. Yammer, yammer, yammer. I don’t care anymore. I have been looking to my boss’s approval for my job security, and I think my security in general. I felt pressure to stay late all the time, and get things done.
I think I became one of those people who works too much! Gross.
Yesterday and today, I bolted at 4:15 in the afternoon.
I focused on my top priorities this week, and made sure they got done. I wrote a 45-page training manual for everyone to use. I responded to all 10 million e-mails I had from my week of vacation. I pretended to act like I know what I am doing, for a solid 8 hours a day.
But that’s all I am giving. I am not giving my peace of mind, my ability to relax, or my hope for the future. Those rest in Someone Else’s hands.
I left work at a reasonable hour, and everyone else is still there. And I feel fine. If they had asked me what is so important that I need to leave work after 8 or 9 hours, I would say:
Tonight, I am going to finish reading The Bourne Identity.
And I am going to laugh at this most amazing grumpy cat meme of all time:
And I am going to do it at a coffee shop where the barista knows my name. Not because I go there all the time, but because we went to college together.
And those don’t seem like very good reasons. But my previous line of thought was: “Well. I don’t have anything important or exciting to do when I leave work. So I should just stay and keep working.”
But now, I’m going to finish this ridiculous novel. And start another one.