My fingers fly across the calculator and I frown at the number, glancing at the computer screen, at the number on the spreadsheet that does not match the number gleaming in the digital light of the ten key. I sigh, stretch, my eyes resting on the clock by the doorway to my office. 11:45. PM. I haven’t worked this hard since I was pregnant with my youngest son. I vowed, that busy season before my last baby, after bidding on three jobs I could not staff, bidding as high as I possibly could in good conscience, and getting all three of them, that no amount of money was worth working 13 and 14 hours a day. I don’t think I’ve worked more than 40 hours a week since then. Usually, I work between 25 and 30 hours, and even that could hardly be called work. I socialize with my clients, I listen to my staff, I write, I review workpapers, admiring the handiwork of these women in my life that I love like sisters.
This year, again, I bid on jobs I knew I didn’t have the staff to accommodate, and I got them. Add to that, I lost my first staff person in 8 years to another accounting firm…in December, meaning that I could not replace her until the spring because it takes much longer to train someone than to do it oneself. It requires patience, and patience runs very thin in an accounting firm during the winter, even an all girl accounting firm. As a final ingredient, my business partner got sick…really sick…and had to take a medical leave.
I’m having a blast. I’d forgotten the adrenaline high that working long hours ignites. I’d forgotten the tremendous sense of accomplishment and pride that I get from doing what I do for a living. My son is coming in after school for a couple hours, learning the trade, catching on quickly, and being a joy to have around. It’s not all bad, this turn of events, and with the extra money, I’m going to take my boys on a fabulous vacation, create some more childhood memories, bond us as only vacations can.
I have a date on Saturday. A new guy. Sort of. Of course. Sadly, my heart didn’t cooperate with my plans for the Midweek Rendezvous Guy. When that relationship switched from lovers to friends, I was deeply troubled. I wondered, WTF, why can’t I seem to continue the course with a guy who obviously likes me? I wondered if something was terribly wrong with me. I still don’t have an answer. I went to an inner child workshop and asked the hurt little girl who lives inside of me. She told me not to be silly. I just haven’t met the right man yet. I hope she’s right.
My date on Saturday is a second date. The first date was in 2004. We had coffee at Borders, he kissed me goodbye, asked me for a second date, and cancelled two hours later. He kissed really well, too. He didn’t call again, and I didn’t call him. A year later, we exchanged a few emails, but nothing came of it. Then, a week ago, he emailed me again and we’ve been talking on the phone daily since.
My life in a nutshell. I haven’t been to the gym for three days. I haven’t visited my mother since Sunday. I stayed home with the boys for the snow day, but I worked 12 hours on my dining room table, although I also did three loads of laundry, made pot roast, and made homemade pasta sauce. At least we won’t starve.
I still want to write about the peace march. I have an outline. Hopefully soon.
In the meantime, I cling to the groundhog’s prediction that spring is just around the corner and with that comes the end of busy season….or the beginning, if you are a gardener such as I.
