I’m beginning to suspect I’m a bit of a workaholic.
It’s almost 8 pm on a Friday. I’ve worked hard all week. I have Duncan’s cold. And what am I doing? Sitting here working, tying up loose ends, making sure I’ve wrapped up all the outstanding details for my current clients.
The thing is, I’m not nearly done. I’m going to stop now, go downstairs, make some lovely Marie Callender’s fettucini alfredo (because I’m too tired/lazy to cook an actual meal) and enjoy the American Idol I recorded from Wednesday.
But looking at my list of things that I could have accomplished this week…well, there’s still more on it. Which means I’ll be putting in at least a few hours this weekend.
It’s OK. I’m not complaining that I have a lot of work going on. It’s work. Billable hours, people. Those are good. I’ve surpassed my goal for billable hours this week by 50% already (and technically the week ends on Sunday night).
I’m told that in the freelance world, work is often feast or famine. I’ve been swamped so far this year — the very thing I was worried wouldn’t happen. I haven’t even had a chance to go looking for new clients which I thought I’d be forced to do as soon as the holidays were over.
But now it’s time for dinner. I bet the oven’s heated up ready to toast my garlic bread.