Fridays are incredibly boring at the office. I woke up this morning and limped into work, figuring I could handle the 8 hours of chair sitting, web surfing, texting, and doodling. My dispatcher and I began a conversation that consisted of him asking me questions about my personal life... something that, despite how I might seem to appear on this blog, I do not like to openly discuss with coworkers and anyone less than a good friend. I listen. I don't gossip. It's just how I avoid drama. I don't mind writing about myself because it gives me the opportunity to think about how I want to word what I want to say. But I like this dispatcher. He's from Argentina and has a cool accent so maybe that's why I fell into his survey trap.
After about fifteen minutes he looked at me with an open mouth, "Why do you do this to yourself?"
"What??" I asked, seriously shocked by his answer.
"Why do you work so much? Why do you do so much? When do you have time for yourself?"
I don't know. I guess I don't really need to work so much. I always thought this was my time. When I worked at the office and surfed the net or read or just thought. I don't remember my last girl's night. I actually hung out with some girls from work yesterday at the gym. That was pretty cool. But it's usually all about what my family wants to do or what my boyfriend wants to do. Wow Argentinian dispatcher. Seriously thank you for this eye opener. I grabbed my dad's REI Adventure Trip Catalog 2009 before I left for work early this morning. Maybe this is a sign....
Et tu, Brute?
3 weeks ago