I wanna go HOME!

I’m tired.  Really, really tired.

This job, the job that is perfect for me, my personality, my skills and my experience?   Yea, that one – I’m tired of it.  Exhausted, in fact.

Perfectly suited, yes; invigorated, no.

Once upon a time, I liked being on the road with nothing but my job to occupy my time.  I felt grown-up.  I felt in control.  I felt free (and, ahem, dangerously so).

Now? I wish I was home, in my pj’s, wrapped around my husband’s good-smelling neck.  I dream of laying my head in his lap and just… laying there.  I miss the stinky dogs and crazy cats.  I miss the mess.

And I’m struggling with overwhelming guilt at not being there to help with the responsibilities of running our household, even if I only “help” by plying my get-shit-done husband with beer and many, many words.  At least I’m there to experience the stress, you know?

So while I tell myself that my job is to do, well, MY JOB, I can’t help but wish I could do more.

Is this growing up?


Once upon a time, I was comfortable in my belief that my job was to make the money, and my ex-husband’ job was to take care of me (us).  I did my job, he took care of everything else, and that was okay.  In exchange for doing everything, I told myself, he got to be free of the responsibility of being the money-maker.

But now? I’m not so sure.  My husband is a very responsible person — the task accomplisher in our household — and I only rival his productivity when I’m trying to make him happy.  {And then, boy am I productive!  Nothing like trying to make someone else proud of me to inspire me to deal with our taxes, file our passport applications, figure out my truck’s registration, and call his doctor, my doctor, the vet, and the cleaning lady.  In one week.}

My point is, he doesn’t get the freedom of being absolved of responsibility because I bring home the bacons, so in exchange, I’m not absolved of any of the responsibility of dealing with our household.  I think that’s okay.

I think that’s called growing up.  But it’s not fun.  I wish I was home.


Also, this growing up thing?  Makes the professional life a little harder, too.  Once upon a time, when I took a new job I was secure in the knowledge that I was right.  Nothing like being an ignorant outsider to make you feel smart and invincible, right?

Now? Not so much.  Now I am bowled over by the brilliance of my coworkers.  Really.  These aren’t just my peers, or bosses, or executive team, but every single person I work with.

Every. Single. Person.

Every single person I work with it trying really hard — too hard, in fact. So hard that we often do things normal people never would, resulting in situations far beyond the simple or normal or expected.  If people tried a little less hard, perhaps simplicity and logic would reign, but because they do everything they can to try to give the right answer, craziness ensues.

Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?  Once upon a time, I learned being afraid to try was as bad as being not willing.  Now, I’m learning that trying too hard isn’t the answer, either.

“We try, we try harder, we keep trying.”  This was the title of a post — or two or three — on my old blog.  Perhaps we’d all be better off if we stopped trying so hard.


Yea, yea, I know.  Ironic, isn’t it?


One thought on “I wanna go HOME!

  1. This post so hit home for me. I worked a ton in March, more so than my usual schedule, and had to travel. I’m exhausted and still feel like I’m drowning in work. And I don’t feel empowered by all the things I’ve done or anything, just tired. And I feel guilty when my husband does the grocery shopping and cooks dinner to help out. Ugh.

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