You know what’s weird about this job (specifically, the job I’ve been doing the past three weeks)?
It’s so physically and mentally exhausting that I figured I’d drop dead on the couch when I got home from work each night. But I get home wired and, as Todd calls it “spun out.” My mind is racing, my body is still in forward motion, everything that happened during the day is still crashing around in my head and I have a hard time getting out of “I AM YELLING AT YOU BECAUSE YOU ARE NOT LISTENING TO ME” mode and also the “rush rush rush” mode.
And then I wake up just as wired, knowing I have to do this for eight hours again today.
The worst part is, I love it. I thrive on this. It makes winding down enough to write at night hard and it makes our down time twice as hard because this is usually the way Todd gets home from work so we’re both with head spins and talking a mile a minute about our days and it seems like we go straight from adrenaline overdose to comatose. And then we do it all again.
I love this. And I hate it.
