Just as I was wrapping up last night (the rest of my office-mates had already packed up and left) an account person came by my desk to talk through what I guess could be called a 'strategic problem.'
I had had already a long day. About six new briefs, a couple of intense internal meetings, and three or four--I lost count--client presentations. Not to mention reviewing work, guiding work, or, even, scribbling out a piece of copy to patch a hole.
What's more, there were still a few vestiges of sunlight out and I was hoping for at least a mile walk before complete darkness.
Finally, my usual Tuesday meeting of "The Battered Husbands of Second Avenue" had moved to Thursday evening thanks to the Muslim holiday of Eid al-Adha and I really didn't want to miss last night's guest speaker.
He was giving a talk I was looking forward to, "Window Shopping: Just Say 'Yes.'" And having missed "Does This Make Me Look Fat?," I knew better than to miss two discussions in a row.
I've been a member of The Battered Husbands of Second Avenue since the mid-80s when I enrolled in their 12-step program to help me stop telling wife jokes. I was only able to complete about seven of the 12 steps mostly because my wife thought I was spending too much time out of the house.
So, as I said, when my account person came up to my desk I was eager to extricate myself and get on my way.
We talked for a while about a seemingly intractable and needlessly confusing problem, and then I politely, I hope, said I really had to go.
I'm not really happy about any of this. The press of work--not to mention the insecurity and what seem to be the ever-increasing demands on my time.
But what's the use of happiness? It can't buy money.