Phew….I made it. This has been a very tough week for me, and I’m glad to be officially entering the weekend now.
*Digression: my husband has just returned home and told me that during his routine doctor’s visit he was told that he had a mild case of “the flu” and prescribed Tamiflu. Great, this is just what I need to end a crappy week: a sick husband who can pass me a contagious virus that will make me miserable. OK, back to the normal whining.*
I’m not finding much energy lately for my job. It’s not that I hate it, but I just am having a hard time looking at it as much more than…just a job. And this type of work is best done with lots of enthusiasm. I’m supposed to be managing a team of 4 people here in the U.S. and guiding projects for another 6 people in India, and I can barely muster the enthusiasm to respond to my email lately.
Maybe this ennui will pass as my body moves through it’s usual hormonal jig.
*Digression again: I love the word ennui. I think I first ran across it in a book when I was about 12 or 14. I looked it up because I had no idea how to pronounce it, although I had some idea of the meaning from it’s context in the book I was reading. (This is why reading is so great for vocabulary development, by the way. The reader can learn a lot about words and sentence structure from context.) Ennui \än-wē\: a feeling of weariness and dissatisfaction. Such a poetic-sounding word! I can say it over and over again and feel almost happy just because it sounds so good, so right.*
Anyway, here I sit at home with a martini and some peanuts — a vodka martini (Kettle One vodka), with a splash of vermouth and 3 blue-cheese olives. I rarely drink martinis, and even more rarely drink vodka, since many vodkas make me feel extremely ill after just a sip or two. Kettle One is not of that variety, of course. (No, I’m not being paid by Kettle One to advertise; for fairness’ sake, Skyy is another vodka I can drink without feeling like my body has been poisoned.)
I sit here feeling quite dis-attached from work, now. And glad to be away from it. While also feeling guilty that I’m not still doing it, since it is never-ending.
And I’m glad it’s the weekend now. Yes, I’m glad that I can spend the next few days with a low-energy, sick husband who wants to lay around and nap all weekend. That sets the bar pretty low on my personal performance scale, and leaves me plenty of room to just veg out.
Excuse me now. I need to get up, put away the chickens for the night, and make myself another martini.