A pattern appears to be emerging. I look at my diary on a Monday and notice that it looks comfortably empty. About thirty seconds later I get a slew of emails and suddenly my week looks like the revenge of the iCal Gnomes. I get up, deal with urgent ORG stuff, go in to see my client, go over to my other office at lunch time, pick up on ORG and stay there way too late. (Although my workload is a walk in the park compared to Cory's and Paula's, really.)
I love what I'm doing, so I'm not complaining, but it is exhausting. My only consolation at the moment is that t'other's workload is just as mad, so when I get tired on the weekend the pair of us curl up and fall asleep, with Miss Ella the cat curled up atop us both.
Mind you, I do owe an awful lot of people emails. Erk. The trouble with that is that I'm turning into one of those people who gets more email that they can possibly cope with, and whom other people then accuse of deserting them because they're one of the 'little' people. Which is bollocks. But I do worry that I don't get to reply to everyone promptly, for which I can only apologise.
Right, nearly home. Time then for dinner and to get some more work done.
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