If it’s the weekend, and I’m not supposed to be working, why do I feel guilty about not working?
What the hell is wrong with me? Nothing is ever going to be good enough for me to wash my hands of it and never want to go back and make it better. I suppose that’s why I can understand making “Special Editions” so much. It’s maddening to have to abandon a project at a deadline, knowing in your heart that you thought of a thousand things that could and should have been done better.
Why can’t I just not think about work at all? The people asking me to work on these insane projects for them within obscenely short time frames and limited resources aren’t even thinking about it. They just hand it off to me, walk away and ignore my calls and e-mails (or read the first sentence and then ask me to “clarify” before reading the “clarification” that was in the first e-mail) and then a week or two before it’s due send me e-mails or phone messages every Gorram day to remind me that the thing I’m doing for them is all they think about.
And yet still, I can’t stop working. I can’t stop thinking about it. I can’t walk away clean for fear I might miss something.
I need help.
I’m going on strike on my free time. No more overtime this week. If I have to, I’m going to the movies every night. Enough of this business. I’ve got no one to blame but myself and my ridiculous desire to make people happy.
You want happy? Get in line. Ask for reasonable things. And then let me have the time to plan the project appropriately.