Twelve job jackets. Two-day deadlines. And one very tired copywriter. For weeks now I have been worried that the recession axe is going to take a swing and lop off my head, sending me on my not-so-merry way to the unemployment line at the Social Security office. So far that hasn't happened.
What HAS happened is an increase in my workload - which is a very good thing, for it means my landlord shall receive his rent this month and I shall be able to shovel fodder down my pie hole to feed my skinny carcass. But I digress!
I've been working 12-hour days for a couple weeks now. Work, work, work, get the job done. Next. Work, work, work, get that job done. Next. And through it all, I keep a smile for I know I still have a job. But inside, my smile is a frown. I am tired. I am getting irritable. And I need a vacation.
It was recently Thanksgiving weekend here in the gloriously unliberal United States. Did I get to stay at home and eat five fat birds worth of turkey? No. I trotted my tiny butt into work and plugged away at my keyboard to write a 5-minute video script. Then I had to whittle that down to 3 minutes. And in that I had to weave in a conversation, not just a Christmas wish list. This is the only place for me to vent because I would not dare show my upside smile here at work.
No. This is a well-oiled machine and when the work is flowing, I get paid. And when I get paid, things are good. Other people get paid and I do my bit to keep this beaten-to-a-pulp economy working.
Let's see how long I can keep it up. Anti-anxiety meds are helping.
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