For the first time in about a week, I’m awake on my standard, go-to-work schedule. Let’s not talk about why I wound up with that much time off. (I’d certainly rather not. It’s one of those things.) But social jet lag rears its ugly head. I don’t think anybody’s really intended to get up a few hours before dawn and go to bed a few hours before sunset. I’m certainly not, and if I had a choice, I wouldn’t do it. Give me a couple days off, and I’m completely off the wagon. It’s not that I stay up late. Not by any objective measure. But late for me? Oh, yeah. It’s tough to really remember that eight o’clock is late and 9 o’clock is insane. And the idea that sleeping until six in the morning is sleeping in? Forget about it.
I don’t stay on the schedule.
I don’t have a clear concept of “breakfast,” “lunch,” and “dinner.”
And I pay for it.
That’s become more apparent, now that Covid is forcing me to pay more attention to my health. A few days ago, I was sick in the middle of the night, and I caught myself thinking…I’ll feel better in the morning, and then I can get up and go to work. I didn’t go to work. Of course, I didn’t. But just the fact that I was thinking about powering through made me think about how much times have changed, and how much crap I drag myself through. (Because even if nothing were ever contagious, I shouldn’t have to go to work sick.)
That’s what the great resignation is all about. People realizing how much they’re giving up for the job they don’t really like, and how little they’re getting in return.
My poor Krebs cycle could use a break.
And I’m thinking about how to do that while I’m working through all the paid time off I’ve accrued by ignoring it all these years.