Burn-out

And then one day you look up from whatever menial day-to-day task is occupying your attention . . . and realize that you have no energy left, that your interest in Life is more reactive than active . . . in short - that you have started down the road to a severe case of burn-out.

I'm not surprised. However, I am grateful to have seen it coming. And now at least I have lifted my head and am looking at the horizon - rather than just watching my feet as they carry me down the road. Which road? Any road.

I have been asked to be far too many people at the moment - and to wear far too many hats. At work I support three busy litigation attorneys, assist most of the new hires with their day-to-day questions and issues, participate in training classes and committees, and try to maintain an entire war-room filled with over a hundred years of litigation documents. Oh, and did I mention my place of employment is MOVING at the end of March?

At home - T. has been assigned to 80 hour weeks (no exaggeration). I can finally say that I know what it is to be a single parent, and as much as I love my little squeaker, kids have an ability that is not present anywhere else in Nature - the ability to suck the energy out of your body and convert it into their own energy - which enables them to stay up until midnight begging to play Hungry Hungry Hippo. A. is currently the light of my Life, and I love him dearly - but he has definitely impacted my reserves of energy.

And I can't exactly tell him that his mother is like an oil field with no reserves. The pumps are still running, but the well has run dry.

So it is time to speak up. It is time to start saying "I'm sorry, but I can't handle any new engagements at the moment." It is time to prioritize and cut back on some of the activities I am doing that do not produce an equal amount of energy. And just as soon as I figure out what the heck those are, they're out the door with a boot in their behind.

Ideas anyone?

At least I saw the disaster before it had a chance to grow - to encompass all my life and to meet me like a wall in a 90 mile-an-hour crash. I've slowed the car to 30, and I think I see a small road leading away from the wall if I can get my turn signal to work properly and veer just a little to the right . . .

A. kicks the back of my driver's seat impatiently. "The light is green, Mommy," he says. "Green means 'GO.'"

"Umm, actually the light is red, Little Man."

He bursts into giggles. It helps to remind me that adults take ourselves, our silly lives and traffic laws - entirely too seriously. By the time the light is green, I am grinning too. After all, how can I go wrong with A. as my co-pilot? Thank you for all you teach me, Little Man.