Having been out of work for a period of seven months early this year, I've almost forgotten what it feels like to be busy. And I don't mean knock-down, dragged-out, face-to-the-canvas busy; I mean really busy.
At this point, I'm starting to hallucinate little blobs of sweet, delicious light floating around my head every time I so much as glance at something. That's after fifteen straight hours of meetings, ladies and gentlemen; I can't wait to see what happens once I start doing overnights in the office again. I suppose that that would make a compelling reason for me to store a camera and a notepad in my desk cabinet -- they would make good companion pieces beside the sleeping bag.
No, I'm not complaining. After seven months of utter boredom, I finally get to plunge my hands into some dirty work. If that work involves spending most of my day in the office putting things together and taking them apart all over again, then so be it. It's better than being completely bored out of your skull with only the dregs of the Internet keeping you company.
Then again, I'm pretty sure that I can't keep this up for more than a few months. I'll probably start seeing the error of my ways after a while.
That, or I'll keel over at my desk one day. But that's another story.