I think it is time for a colossal makeover. Where I once had melt-downs I want power-ups. I hate it when people put me where they think I never go. Been there. Done that. Someone asked me if I was becoming a workaholic. I had to ponder that word and not get back to her. Addicted to work. Obsessed with work. When is work work? When it’s work I guess. I have three paying employments and three heart fulfilling “jobs” in my private life but am I a workaholic? No, not really. Not until it becomes Work. Strange to think of it that way. Strange to want it that way.
Last week my husband was gone for 5 days. I didn’t sleep well during his absence. I prowled the seemingly too empty house listening for the ticking clock, the hum of the fridge, the cry of the cat. Everything was super quiet without him. I spent time observing a house void of stereo, television, xbox, playstation, ipod, dvd, computer, and vcr chatter. No RedSoxRockBandDrumSoloTextMessagePhoneCallYouTubePhishFan. Instead the rasp of turning book pages, the scratch of a pencil across paper, the drop of a dying flower petal were the only things I heard. I listened for the silence and it heard me.
I didn’t eat normal in my husband’s absence. Standing in front of the fridge I ate out of containers and picked at fruit. I ate raw and green and fresh not wanting to heat up a grill or roast an oven. An apple here, a scoop of peanut butter there. Licking my fingers and ignoring the spoons in the drawer. I was content to graze when I felt hungry, not tied to a schedule.
In this sense of “work” I guess you could say I was on vacation. But, I missed the job of being a wife. I’m not at my best without my better half. I do better when my best friend is there to cheer me on. It’s a curious thing, this thing called love. If love is a job and a job is work I will stop hiding behind the words and say, yes I am a workaholic.