This was my first week back at work. We've started up curbside appointments, and it's taken what seems like months to iron out all the procedures, and a fair bit of helping to keep things running smoothly and safely fell on my shoulders, along with a group of about 20 others.
On Monday, I put in 16,000+ steps, and passed out as soon as I got home.
On Tuesday, I awoke thinking "I can't do another four days of this." All that day, I was in a high bitch of a mood--tired and exhausted and in pain, even.
On Wednesday, I got my second wind--it helped that there were various work fires to put out, and a noticeable uptick in work to be done, and we were a bit short staffed. It's almost like, when there are more challenges, it's almost easier to rise to the occasion with good cheer and energy.
On Thursday, I plateaued. I chugged along and did work and remained present and reminded myself that the weekend was almost here.
And on Friday, I basically just spent it doing all of what I had done earlier. And I thought, with increasing glee, oh god. The weekend. I can't wait. I just have to get through the next several hours of work, drop shit off for T---, work for The Prof, send off about twenty emails, oh! and pick up wine. But, oh, god: the joy of Fridays. What a lovely, lovely thing. It is a simple, pure joy, and I will never forget it.
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| At 10 PM on Friday evening, Mama Manager put down her sword. |
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