Hangover

The busy season at work is almost over. Gone are the days of starting work at ridiculous o’clock, then going home at a million o’clock. But I still have another week or two until the quantity of work dwindles to an entirely reasonable level, yet my brain has already declared the busy season over.

Just last week I was racing around the office. To the printer, back to my desk, to the staffing department, and then to the shipping room. Track that package. Call that subcontractor. Listen to the voicemails piling up. Answer the emails. Look at the watch; it’s only 8:30 in the morning. Throw another party with Earl Grey in the cup. Uncarbonate the diet mountain dew, so I can drink it without having to burp a hundred times afterward. Inhale lunch without tasting it, and then retrieve some more print outs.

This week I’ve slowed down considerably, even though I still have a crapload of work to do. It’s taking me three times as long to complete my work than it did last week. I am tired. I drew a hand puppet on my hand and ran around the office talking to my co-workers with it just to wake myself up. But more than tired, I am over it. This part of my job has me on auto-pilot. Lather, rinse, repeat. My brain is atrophying. I am ready to think about something else. I am ready to clear my desk and to do something else.

But there are still a few weeks to go.