The Space Center is closed for the holiday. I’m please with myself. I didn’t visit the Center yesterday and I don’t plan on dropping in today. For a born again workaholic that kind of behavior would cause some to suspect I’d fallen off the wagon. Let me reassure my loyal Space Center fans that I haven’t. On Monday I’ll return to the home of all Workaholics, the Land of the Lost off the Coast of Despair. I hear the song of the Sirens calling me back to 100 hour weeks and a bottomless inbox.
Being a confessed workaholic is like living in a time machine that only goes forward. Seasons pass with the months like the weeks pass with the days. Everything I do is very repetitive so time passes almost unnoticed. One day I notice its September and the next thing I realize Christmas trees are appearing in the front windows of the houses I pass on my way home in the evening. One June day I celebrated my 40th birthday and suddenly a decade past and I found myself surrounded by a group of people in my sister’s backyard singing “Happy Birthday to You,” while a banner waved in the wind proclaiming to all that I was “Over the Hill”. Yes friends, I hit the big 50 in June. Enjoy your holiday.
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