So this is what a workaholic feels like. . .

I'm tired.

And yet I'm wired.

Last week I got a call. There I was innocently trying to get some lunch at my most favorite supermarket in the entire world (hey, if you were where I was you'd understand the obession) and my mobile phone starts ringing. Although when it first rang I did not hear it. I climb in the van and turn in the direction to return to the office where sane people work.

The phone rings again. This time I hear it.

It's the old office. They have been desperately trying to track me down. They need help. Fast.

And so I, in the interest of generating some extra cash for a 10th annivsary weekend away in late spring, heard them out. Then I accepted the very labor intensive job within it's unbelievably short deadline.

Let me first say that even now, nearly 5 months to the day of bidding bossman adieu, I still tense up when I hear his voice. Is that warped or what?

But on to the good stuff. I work sporadically over the weekend. I work at the real job today, come home to a snowball fight with the remaining vestiages of the itty-bitty snowfall we got last night, watch brainless TV and then settle back in to working for oldplace. I finished just a short-time ago. Still flush with the heaps of thanks and praise from bossman. I know it's a fleeting thing - it always is - and yet it never stops to make me gloat a little when he's laying it on thick.

Soon I will settle to sleep. I will confirm there are no edits needed from me tomorrow and then I will produce the nice invoice that will subsidize my trip to a truly romantic little getaway an hour from here. And then I will be thankful that this is not my norm - this workaholic stuff sucks.