Try not to drink too much of it. Don’t even think about getting drunk on it. The only excuse anyone should ever have on indulging in “workahol” is if you’re saving lives or making the world a better place.
For the past week, I’ve been working from 9 am to 11 pm on average. It was a Philippine holiday last Tuesday too, but I worked for 9 hours. Last weekend, if I wasn’t running errands right and left, I was praying that I could catch up on sleep. My week went this way: work, sleep, work, sleep, work, eat when I remember to.
Don’t even ask about the state of my apartment. I’m already dreading the major industrial-level cleanup I have to do before my family comes over for vacation.
Here’s the kicker: regardless of how many hours I work on overtime, I get paid a fixed rate. Enough to pay for a fast food meal and a ride back home.
It’s not the happiest of experiences walking by closed shops at night hoping for the next taxi or jeepney to pass by soon, while both your brain and body are double-dead tired from work. Then again, it’s marginally quieter when I leave our office building in the middle of the night. On the brighter side of things, it’s a peaceful scene to walk into. A small comfort, but comfort nonetheless.
I like the kind of work I’m in. But the hours I put in? I sometimes wonder if it’s worth sacrificing the rest of my life and my time.
I’m not that ambitious. I just want to see Japan’s trees, Ireland’s grass, a Manchester United football game, and the sky while I bungee jump as I realize I’m not scared of heights anymore. I want to hear my family laugh and see them smile many, many times. I don’t need to live rich, really.
I just want to have a front row seat while the world as it is now still finds a way to astound me, even when I mistakenly think I’m jaded; and I want it to happen to me several times.
I’m not sure I can do that if I’m staring at a computer 15 hours a day. And trying to get enough sleep, get to work, and get a life during the remaining 9 hours of that day.
It’s a sad day when I stop in my tracks and just stare at the distance, realizing that I’ve worked so hard, I’ve missed being with myself.
I’m young yet. This might just be some form of burnout. Early stages, maybe? Or I’m just tired.
I didn’t want to end up like this:
So I kind of avoided my laptop for a while.
God, I need rest.
If by God’s will He decided to take me away right now, I’d walk up to Him, ask Him if I can sleep at his feet, and proceed to do just that. I wouldn’t mind an eternity of that.
But hey. Again, I’m young yet. I like life. Even if work is currently eating its way through my life.
Braaa~in, braaaaa~in: Get some rest!
