Myra Lee

2009-11-02 - 10:04 p.m.

Waaaa! I'm working too much. Good grief. I knew this would be the drill, but it's much more oppressive than I'd imagined. Some people are totally cut out for it. You can tell by the glimmer in the eye as they complain about how they're working too much, but really it's clear they'd choose nothing else. I see this when I meet up with certain law school friends. When I complain, my eyes are without glimmer, I assure you. That's what I have to offer: complaining that's 100 percent genuine. Wheeee! Don't everyone extend dinner party invitations all at once.

Today I found myself googling "burnout" and thinking the descriptions sounded about right, although it seems there are many different categories and symptoms of burnout. I didn't find a specific diagnosis for the manifestations I noticed today, which included realizing, startlingly, that I had stared at a blank, white wall for at least five minutes thinking about how life would be so much better if I was Feist.

I know it won't be like this forever. It's bizarre to me that some people work this hard for the duration of their careers. I also know it's not tasteful to be fretting about a job at a big law firm right now, given that most '09 law school grads are completely screwed, even when they thought they'd procured decent jobs. I'm not complaining. I just dream of feeling human again.

In other news, we have a cute 20-something gentleman moving into the hobbit house in our backyard, and we can't help but regard him as if cultural anthropologists, quite curious to see what the youth of today making a go of a photography career might do for hobbies, health, and pleasure. And will he survive the brutal winter in the unpermitted, dilapidated structure, which has no heat and is listed on the deed as "tool shed?" In our defense as slumlords, this is Southern California, where the winter temperatures rarely drop below 50 degrees. And he seemed genuinely pleased with the place.

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