January 7th, 2007

abstract butterfly

punching the salt mine clock

Weekend work and I are not strangers. We are old friends. The life of a very young lawyer for me involved a lot of late nights and weekends, although, as is ever the way with such things, I can think of other lawyers of my acquaintance who worked far later nights and far longer weekends.

In recent years, the career toll road tends to extract its quarters in a less intrusive routine. Some events--a major deadline, a trial, a collection of things to do arriving more or less at once--require weekend effort. But such exceptional things are no longer the endless rule.

This weekend proved a hearken back to old times for me, as I worked from 9 a.m. until 10 p.m. on Saturday, and from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. today. I did have breaks for meals, stray diversions,
a Weight Watchers meeting (I lost 1.8 pounds during the holiday season), and various information technology frustrations.

I miss the weekend I would have had, with the potential for walks and relaxation and perhaps a good book. But once in a while the decree comes out that everyone must go to their home town to be taxed. My career has long been home to me--call this a census weekend.