Years ago I shared an office with a woman whom I kind of hated. She wasn’t a bad person. She was just on fast forward. At a moment’s notice, she was ready to roll up her sleeves and attack a project. Her motto was “Let’s bang this shit out!”
I, on the other hand—a single woman in my late twenties—couldn’t understand what her rush was. Her eagerness annoyed the crap out of me. She was always on.
I remember once I was gingerly hand-cutting a proof for a vendor, and she stopped and watched me. I could see her hands moving faster for me.
She didn’t even drink coffee.
I thought of her today. Chuck’s been gone for 12-hour days for reasons I can’t get into. I’ve been waking at the buttcrack of dawn to get me and my bump ready for work and Junior ready for pre-school. I drop him off, work all day, pick him up, make dinner, get ready for bed and er, blog. Somewhere in there I do laundry, dishes, grocery shop and make sure my clothes aren’t inside-out.
Don’t forget the house showings at a moment’s notice.
To add insult to injury, Junior has another ear infection. I can’t take off work, so Chuck’s mother is spending the night tonight; my mother is spending the night tomorrow night. It’s like the slasher version of the Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood, in which they want to talk and laugh and all I want to do is poke my eyes out. Or maybe jump through a window and fly to Antarctica.
I honestly didn’t write this post intending it to be a pity party. I wrote it because I suddenly understand the can-do attitude of my former co-worker. She was a single, working mother with an elderly parent for whom she also cared. She ploughed through because she had to.
Kind of like me now. When I see a mess, I don’t stop to assess it, I dive in. I don't have a choice. I have to get things done. I'm a fricken workhorse, and the 20-something slowpokes at the office are making me insane.
I’m still on the fence about what this all means. Perhaps that I’ve fully acquiesced to grown-up-ville and its mundane chores (I did, after all, post a cheery Facebook status about replacement windows). Or perhaps that I’m projecting kind, apologetic feelings toward my former co-worker in an attempt to sooth my own, tired, frail, plump ego.
Whatever the case, I'm shit banger outer.