Twelve Hour Work Days

Posted September 13th, 2004 by Michelle

I live in the Napa Valley, and harvest is happening all around me, so I’m certainly not the only one working overtime. It’s been weeks since my friend Jon saw the sun when he wasn’t working. And maybe it’s sad that I have the time to work twelve hour days right now- it means I don’t have much of a life, right? But it also means that I have the energy, drive, and belief in this project to work long hours with little pay. I was sitting in the foyer of a restaurant tonight, picking up a piece of fish for my dinner, when I had a flashback of restaurant work. In that flashback I was working at Keller’s new restaurant in NYC, making mad money and having four days off each week. But after this I don’t think I can ever work at anything again that is not meaningful to me. I’ve made plenty more money in a lot less time, but things have changed. I can’t do that now.

I’ve begun, and possibly also already ended, a relationship this week. Think what you will, but two elements in any relationship are simply necessary: you must think your mate is funny, and you must have some agreement on political issues. It’s sometimes as simple as that. This guy is funny, sweet, smart, and kind, artistic and practical, loving and affectionate. But we can’t seem to get over a political argument we had on our third date. The thing is, the content of the argument is a little disturbing, but ever since it seems we’ve been speaking greek to each other. We can’t communicate. We’ve now discussed it for a total of several hours and we only met a week ago tonight. It’s unfortunate, but I guess at least we are getting this stuff out in the open quickly. We may recover and bounce back and become all the closer for it, but at this point I think we are both thinking the same thing: we should be in the salad days, not the knots-in-stomach days. I don’t know if there is a future for us. But it’s actually a really positive reminder that I do want to foster and encourage a little more lovin’ in my life. Of the emotional kind.

It’s 9:18, and there must be Sirens in my bed, singing the sweet song of cool sheets and soft pillows. I can’t think about anything else. Sometimes going to bed before 10 PM is absolutely delicious. Better than ice cream.