Ah, I remember the days when I would put in 60-70 hour work weeks with nary a complaint. I liked being at work. And since I had quit drinking, it gave me something productive to do in the evenings. I think I only finally collapsed after a few months of that pace.
Fast forward 16-17 years: It’s only been a few days of these 10-12 hour days, and I’m completely exhausted. I’m too old for this shit. I’ve only got another couple weeks of this, I believe. I’ll make it. Right now I’m at the punchy phase as are some of the programmers. Two of the guys came into my office because I had summoned them quite desperately as they walked down the hall. Lord knows what that sound was I used to get their attention. Once they got into my office, we all just looked at each other. They were still quite baffled by the noise I made, and I forgot what the fuck I was going to say. We all just busted up laughing though none of us knew why. Hey, at least I’m still laughing. Another colleague breaks out in tears whenever someone asks how her testing is going.
Despite some unpleasant holiday memories, I can tell I’m not sinking into a holiday funk merely by choice of reading materials. I’m still reading Pema Chodron. Lovely and inspirational. My choice of reading during a holiday funk? Books about serial killers. Almost like a strong sugar craving that draws you into the Krispy Kream, I would be drawn to the True Life Crime section of the bookstore. Reading about people who were more messed up than me was somewhat soothing. It made me feel like the picture of mental health.
OK, back to work.