I spent about five weeks this fall in a state of constant busyness at work, to the point where my ‘regular’ work tasks got set aside, sometimes for weeks at a time, because there were events! Film festivals! Auctions! Publication deadlines! Serious staff turnover! I was working 50-60 hours a week, still not getting everything done, and got totally burned out. Adding to my trauma was that my beloved bike got stolen, which felt not completely unlike a death in the family.
(I exaggerate only a little. I get quite attached to things, especially things that have been through a lot with me. I rode this bike to the hospital when my mother died, for example. It was a good friend. Oh, also I have a problem with anthropomophising things. Probably to do with separation anxiety lingering from my FATHER’s death when I was five, which…yeah, I might need therapy one day.)
When the maddening season finally ended, I took a day off for that aforementioned (well, on Wednesday) shopping trip to Montréal, fell asleep on a Greyhound bus on the way back (which is about as safe as swimming at the Playboy grotto when the pool filter’s broken), and ended up with plague. Needless to say, the stuff I hadn’t been taking care of at work didn’t get done very well, or at all, for a while longer.
After my very slow recovery, I realized just how half-assed a job I had been doing lately, but continued to do a half-assed (well, maybe a three-quarter-assed) job until, oh, two weeks ago? I know the staff noticed, because it seemed slightly contagious (the apathy, not the martian death flu) for a while (though that might have just been cold weather lethargy — perhaps I credit myself too much).
Obviously, I eventually snapped myself out of it and committed to no longer being a wastrel, in the hopes of causing less misery to everyone here (myself included), I found it really difficult to stop checking in to see if there were new quizzes on Sporcle or trying to figure out a way to go home early.
But, of course, I’m much happier when things actually get done and are working smoothly, instead of getting frantic messages on weekends from floor managers saying we’re out of small cups, trying to trace a missing $40 from a week’s old bank deposit, or having a big pile of box office reports on top of the phone. Who’d have thunk it?