Saturday, February 04, 2012

He's been working and slaving his life away.

I am writing this at work. Yeah, it's Saturday. And yeah, I am at work. In the evening. The situation called for it, so here I am. Of course, I get this from my father. Besides being an alcoholic he was a workaholic. In a little bit of irony, I was talking on the phone to him on the way in. I told him I was coming in to work some overtime and he remarked that he worked overtime any chance he got. No fooling, Sherlock.

I am not mad at my father about it. He had four kids to feed and kids as you may know cost money. So he worked any overtime the city approved, he worked a second job when we were kids, and he salvaged copper, aluminum, car batteries, newspaper, and anything else the recycler would take. And if I had that kind of responsibility, I'd do it to.

But my stepson is an adult and I can do for my granddaughter without working myself to death. And the thing I have learned as I have gone through a year this past year where I worked Herculean overtime is that money doesn't matter so much if you're too tired to shop and too sick to use it for anything other than doctor's bills.

So I have made a pact with myself to keep the overtime I work to the absolute minimum this year, because life is worth more than money.

Fly Lady Update:

Well, I did some work in the living room and the kitchen, but beyond that I made myself a special affirmation MP3 designed to penetrate deep to my subconscious. So far, judging by today, it works pretty well. But we'll see as the month wears on.

A bunch of Animals. (True fact: I sung this on stage in college, ripping my shirt off at the end of the performance.)

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