This weekend, I put my workaholic-free token back in a box and I’ll pick it up again after I’ve earned it back with 6 months of clean living.
It started small. I committed to being a part of the bridal party for my best friend’s wedding. I committed to working overtime the same week because my office is short-handed and still in the midst of our busy season. I committed to redecorating our home and making our tiny space work for us. I committed to family time with a visiting cousin. I committed to blogging. I committed to a website project and a few print projects.
It seems like a lot, but it was all spread from the middle of May till the end of July. No worries, I thought.
I got this.
Then things collided. My perfectly timed schedule fell through. Everyone needed everything done by or before 10am Sunday morning.
I fell right into old habits. I used the internet on the phone when I had to, slept sparsely, and pretty much lived off easy cheese.
Dave tried to pull me back, saying how every one of the people requiring my existence would be more than happy to take the pressure off.
“What pressure?” I said before the drive to the wedding.
“This doesn’t count as being a workaholic,” I said at 5am in the morning before going to sleep, “because most of this is for hobbies and friends.”
“I’ll stop after Sunday,” I said, “and go back to pacing myself then.”
“This weekend is an exception,” I told myself.
All those things are true and if I wasn’t prone to this sort of spiraling behavior, it’d be no big deal. Everyone has a busy weekend sometimes.
At about midnight last night, the fog cleared and I looked around my messy home– and I’m not sure what was really accomplished by the runaway-balloon-that-was-me this weekend.
Lots, actually– I managed everything except the blogging– but if Dave hadn’t been holding onto my string, I wonder what would have been sacrificed in the name of all that noise.
I should have set some limitations, and done one thing at a time in a prioritized order.
I’ve done a wonderful job of surrounding myself with amazing, patient people. The incredible flexibility of my clients, employers, co-workers, best friends, and family made everything possible without any stress or angst. I knew they would relieve any pressure put on me– I just chose not to go to them.
And that’s the problem.
I guess it’s time to go back to the drawing board and come up with a plan to avoid the temptation of letting “work” and “outside commitment” intrude upon my personal life and well-being.
But that’s a project for tomorrow.
Today, I sleep.
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I’m thinking of a code word that Dave can use when he thinks I’ve falling off the wagon– something I train myself to hear since “You haven’t eaten all day” is just so ignorable. Any suggestions for good coded sentences? I’m thinking, “The plate ran away with the spoon.”
Also, did you miss me?