As I sit here eating my bowl of twigs and berries, pondering with great relief the end of the football season (and the weeks of wasted Sunday afternoons it entails), I am also a little sad. Why am I sad? Is my fibrous breakfast cereal getting soggy? Oh no, All Bran never gets soggy. Do I feel sorry for my disappointed husband and his best buddy, who were repaid for their premature gloating with a last-minute crusher that reduced the Arizona Cardinals to stunned sideliners? Not a bit. (When I could care less, I usually pick the Eastern team just on principle.)
No, I'm glum because January is SHOT and I'm still wrestling with 2008 financials on multiple fronts. Shit. It's ENDLESS. How did I wind up in this position? Why have I allowed myself to become intergral to the financial operations of two different organizations, when I HATE this stuff and I'm functionally incapable of doing any of it the easy way? Every other day someone phones or emails to breathe down my neck about something. Every damned piece of paper is supposed to be out the door by the 31st too, which is impossible when I can't get in any significant overtime at the office and my helper is very willing but not too reliable (and doesn't answer to me anyway.) BLAST. So I'm overdue on several sets of tasks, not horribly behind but not ON TIME which bugs me and attracts the attention of critics.
If I had a beer I'd hoist one for the Steelers, who Pulled It Off at the last minute, and I'd pray for a little of their luck this week.