40 Hour Week

Hesitant to spoil anything, I've not mentioned that I'm incredibly happy at work of late. Due to the insane amounts of work I did early this year, my reputation with the new boss is fabulous and the workload has settled at an utterly bearable level.

I went in early Monday morning to interview a candidate, thinking the world a lovely place as Chienne and I wandered through the neighborhood as the sun was just emerging for the day. I took my camera for the rest of the week, sometimes forgetting to take pictures as I sighed over the light and colors that exist just at dawn. I was happy to be awake, feeling pleasantly rested and enjoying the smallest chill in the morning air.

I came home early Monday afternoon, working a mere 9 hours and actually taking time to lunch with colleagues in the cafeteria. I worked normal hours on Tuesday and Wednesday, wondering around to my group to see if there were places I could contribute since I was shockingly caught up with my own projects. I accepted meetings I normally would have declined, taking time to listen and learn. I happily spent time testing programs and running experiments, reestablishing stagnant relationships I've been exploiting in past months as I tried frantically to keep from drowning in work.

So I chatted and giggled, talked and kept up with each new task that arrived for me. I made new lists carefully and tried not to dread the next bout of business that would erase the peaceful productivity I so enjoy.

"Fantastic," I chirp at times, others offering a quick "fabulous" or "wonderful!" when asked how I am, remembering the times when I would bite off a "hanging in there" in response to similar inquiries.

"I'm so happy," I told Adam when we talked and he blinked at me before smiling indulgently.

"I'm glad," he offered and I nudged his shoulder with my own before grinning at him. "Do you have time to do some work for me?" he asked, adopting his best innocent expression.

"Happy to help," I replied promptly. "But I'm leaving at 5."