Wednesday, June 11, 2014

Over... Something

At what point do you declare yourself a workaholic?

Is it when it interferes with the rest of your life? When you realize that it's interrupted your other time -- your family time, your friend time, whatever?

When you're not sure what else to do with your time?

Clearly, I love my job. I talk about it here ... all the time. It inspires at least two-thirds of the posts here. And right now, I wouldn't trade it for anything.

Even with the long hours.

And the "does-this-count-as-work-when-I'm-mostly-goofing-off?" moments that I'm not sure what to do with.

Or when I answer an email after 8PM about how we might fix our internet situation here. [Yep, that just happened.]

This isn't just a job. This is a place that's altered the way I do things, the way I react to things, the way I treat people. I've learned how to cope with crowds, banter with campers, and fold a fitted sheet. I can fix up a kid that scraped her knee hiking and not be totally thrown off when a 13-year-old apparently develops a crush on me. [Have I mentioned that it's been an interesting week?] All sorts of things that used to make me terribly uncomfortable just ... don't anymore.

The "job" portions of it -- the bills, the toilets, the lecturing campers on why they don't get to climb the rocks in that one spot -- roll right in with the "life" parts of it to the point where I don't really know if I don't have an outside life because I work too much or because it's just fallen so far back in my priorities.

Which worries me occasionally.

I'm not overworked, exactly, but I'm over-something.

I think maybe it's time for me settle in and read a book...

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