Crashing into the Weekend

Oh gosh.

What a week.

As my homecoming countdown glides carefreely to 6 days, I’m inversely increasing time spent at work, turbo-charging concentration levels, and recruiting an inner-motivational captain who can give me that gentle nudge I need: “KEEP GOING!! Hup, two, three, four...Slaughter that project!...Kill it good!... What's this!? You want a tea-break? A TEA-BREAK!!? Ooo... prissy Joni wants a teeee-break... would you like a slice of cheesecake with that? GET BACK TO WORK!!"

So I do. And when I get home, I'm too tired to eat. Missed dinner the past three nights. Too much excess adrenalin to wind down. Can't sleep. Wake up bleary-eyed the next morning, an hour and a half earlier than I usually do, and without time to compose myself, or ponder over life questions, or watch the morning cartoons, the Captain's already standing by the door ushering me out.

Yesterday after completing the last word on the executive summary to my 18-page project report, I organised an official meeting with product managers this afternoon, and presented my blood in a wooden bowl carved with my bare hands. I mean... the results of my work over this three-month period. The entire report and presentation was my own initiation, because the Captain says: "Bowl them over and earn your ticket, and right, to go home".

Relieved to say the presentation and report were well-received, and I've earned two weeks in Melbourne! Yatta!! I did, however, against all personal logic and reasoning, recommend myself to return to Brisbane for one more week after that to absolutely finalise everything, and to farewell my baby, the project with which I've had a love-hate relationship. Ironically I'm already feeling attached to it, but no worries, i'll be slapped out of it easy when I remind myself of days like these.

Said i'll never talk about work. I lied.