Take the Time
An interesting thing has happened since I stopped working.
I started living. I had missed my entire life working like that, and I didn’t even know it. I’d missed everything. Dinners. Cooking. Reading good books. Learning about new things. Knitting. Politics. Shortly before I decided to leave, Adam and I were out to dinner and an ‘emergency’ arose and I had to leave the restaurant immediately, before dinner was served, dragging my poor, starving husband with me.
I missed everything. I know I’ve talked about it before, but I worked a lot. 90 hours a week wasn’t uncommon. I would wake up around 7 a.m., get coffee, and check email. Get caught up in massive onslaught of unhappy people and start answering email. Panic around 8 a.m. that I hadn’t showered and needed to leave. Showered. 8:30 a.m., do one final check of email and leave at 8:45.
Commute. Sit in traffic. Make work-related phone calls. Answer email in traffic, including those that were wondering where the hell I was (WORKING, you idiots!). Arrive at work around 9:30 a.m.
Work. Work. Work. Work. Work. Eat lunch hovered over desk if there was time to actually grab it. Work. Answer phone. Work. Explain to disgruntled stockholders why stock was in the toilet. Work. Get yelled at by angry investors. Work. Answer crazy wild goose chase email by president of division who is wondering why our biggest competitor has more lines in a BusinessWeek column than we do. Work. Contemplate crying. Work.
6:45 p.m. Leave. Make leftover phone calls in car. Check email on the road. Work in car. Get yelled at by Adam for not making it home for dinner. For the third time in as many days.
7:45 p.m. Arrive home. Shove food in gullet. Log on to computer. Check email. Answer flurry of IMs from boss. Work. Write miscellaneous press releases that I didn’t have time for during the day because of Angry Investors.
9:30 p.m. Go for run. Shower. Read email in-between the two events.
10:30 p.m. go to bedroom. Answer emails.
Midnight. Proof release and send off. IM with boss one last time.
Sleep fitfully due to vast amount of terrifying work hanging over head, not to mention thinly veiled threat that job was precarious and could be eliminated at any time.
7:00 a.m. Weep at sound of alarm.
THIS IS WHAT I DID FOR EIGHT YEARS. I am not exaggerating. And what’s worse, this was on a normal day. When it got “really busy,” it was worse. I would work straight through the weekend, eating dinner at the office and managing phone calls in my pajamas because there wasn’t time for the luxury of a shower. No fucking WONDER I have anxiety issues, for God’s sake. And it’s a fucking Christmas miracle that I’m married and that my husband didn’t leave me (he considered it more than once, I’m sure).
I’m so lucky to have been given the opportunity (thank you, Adam) to get off and actually live. I’ve been cooking. Interviewing for normal jobs. Working on my book and thinking about what’s next. Exercising in a gym like a normal person. I’m spoiled, I know, and my husband is nothing short of fucking amazing. Amazing for letting me do this, and for putting up with me all of those years. My salary, albeit lovely, was NOT WORTH IT.
If you see any of yourself in the above, please stop. Take out a loan, go back to school, move to an area that’s more affordable. Because you have no idea how little living you’re actually doing until you start.
*The now-defunct but wonderful Freddy Jones Band
7 comments December 1st, 2005