ESTEBAN WAS EATEN!
keeps looping through my mind. Not bitten. EATEN!
Ever since returning from my lost weekend, it's been Go-Go-Go for me at my job, keeping up with the demands of this busiest time of year, kicking myself for taking an actual three-day weekend.
Since then, I've worked every day, even Saturday, even Sunday, devoting extra hours to making sure everything is done, everything is squeaky-clean, everything is ready for audit, the big annual test of my performance at my job. And since last year was particularly challenging -- new job, steep learning curve, insane turn-over of one position on my staff -- this September is going to be more intense than usual.
I expect to work next weekend, too.
My dream is that this year will march along so much more calmly, every month neat and sewed up, so that September 2013 won't be this mad whirl. That's the dream, anyway.
But for the moment I am veritably EATEN, not bitten, by the work of my job, giving every ounce of creativity I possess over there, so that this poor little blog is getting scant attention indeed. Boo! I'm still up at 4:30, mostly stumbling around, marveling at how a person can be so tired and still keep going, powered by will and caffeine, and listening to the second book by Deborah Harkness, Shadow of Night, while waiting for the first book in the series to arrive by mail so I can re-live that first part, touch pages with my hands. I maintain my 4:30 wake-up time just because it's my habit now, and just in case I can find some spare sumthin', like this morning, to get some words out. Words of my own. Not numbers.
But listen, this being-eaten, it's OK with me. I would be lying if I said I didn't enjoy it. I do enjoy this enormous project, the neatness of it, working through my checklist of documents Prepared By Client, even if it is all-consuming. It always feels like a higher calling, readying the organization for outside scrutiny. This bit, this is the whole point of my job, really, so it's always satisfying to welcome the auditors for their field work, welcoming them like compatriots who speak my same language.
It just means I am less available for other things, my energy too taken up with reconciling accounts to do more than give the arugula and sunflowers in the garden too much more than a cursory glance, to get more than this out right now.
As much as I wish I didn't have to do anything but write and farm and tend bees and jar honey, still I enjoy this September call to the numbers. I know, given the opportunity, I could learn to live without it, but for now, I'm letting it eat me, without resistance, swallowed whole.