It’s nearly 11 p.m.

Proper tools

The date on my blog is perpetually set to the wrong time, which is fine, because it adds to the mystery, I suppose. And it gives me a jolt to look down at the little notice: Draft saved at 2:49:36 am. that WordPress shows me — and it reminds me, I need — really need –– to get to bed.

I worked all day today. Pretty much. Woke at 6:30 a.m., then decided to do my sitting and breathing and counting for a little while. By the time I’d counted to 50, I was starting to nod off again, so I took it as a sign and lay myself down again. And woke up at 10:30.

You have to understand — I really don’t sleep in till 10:30. Not normally. Hardly ever. But today I did. I guess I was that tired.

I lay in bed till around 11:00, then I hauled my aching ass out of bed and headed downstairs. I have been sick as a dawg all week — all this very crazy-busy, incredibly crammed week. And earlier in the week I felt like I was dying, while sitting at my desk working – I felt like I was on my way out for days on end. But guess what — I’m still here. And a good thing, too. The work had to get done, and there was literally no one else to do it. So I did it. Hello, hero/martyr complex.

Ah, well. As needless as this suffering has been, I have collected stats and numbers to share with management — I can tell them how long it has literally taken me to do this thing… and how long they can reasonably expect another person to get it done, bare minimum. It hasn’t been easy. But nobody believes me unless they see numbers.

So, I’ll give ’em numbers.

Today, I spent my hours at a makeshift desk, clicking away, uploading files… fixing configurations… changing text and settings and numbers, etc. If I didn’t feel so crappy, I would have resented being stuck inside on such a beautiful day. But I had work to do and I felt like sh*t anyway, so what the hell? Just do the work. Just get it done.

I started around 1:30 p.m. Checked Facebook a few times. Watched a little Kung Fu for a while. And kept working.  Kept going till about 10:30, with some short breaks here and there.

Not bad for a Saturday.

And tomorrow’s another day. Another day to work, Easter or no. Got to square away the things that need to be squared away. This project is a monster, mammoth effort. Now mind you, all the pain and anguish has been needless and utterly avoidable. But if nobody will listen to my ideas about how to avoid it in the first place, there’s no much I can do.

Don’t think. Just work. Just do the work.

To be honest, I don’t really give a damn that this project has consumed my life for the past two weeks, like some crazy rabid racoon devouring scraps in a suburban chain restaurant’s trash bin. I don’t care. It’s work. I really, truly don’t care. Most of my colleagues are too busy covering their asses or trying to look good or avoiding doing — gasp — work, because to actually put your shoulder to the wheel is considered “beneath them”. Only the stupid work hard. If you’re smart and of a certain class, you never have to work. And if you by some chance slip into the questionable territory of rolling up one’s sleeves and diving in for some hands-on, well you may be forgiven by your peers.

Then again, you may not. You might not be promotion material, after all.

But it’s their loss. Because there is real freedom in putting your shoulder to the wheel and pushing very, very hard. There is true rest for those who are weary from actual labor. And there is measurable success in the delivery of a project, no matter how big, no matter how hairy, no matter how much of a stink it creates.

And with that, my friends, I am off to bed.

Until I rise to work again.