overtime and the single girl

As I've already mentioned in passing, this is The Month of Wicked Bad Deadlines where I work. All of my coworkers and I have been spending extraordinary hours hunched over our desks. I've wasted pretty much the entire last three weeks of my life doing little other than speed-editing dull, complicated legal documents. (And I'm tired, so if this post is riddled with typos and grammatical errors? You can: (1) Ignore them; or (2) Bite me. Oh, and all this work is making me a mite cranky.)

I'm already out to all y'all as a big old dyke (yes, that's what the D stands for), but now I think it's time for me to step out of a much more personally painful and awkward closet: I am a state worker. A public servant. A cog in the mighty wheel that is supposedly democracy.

Do you still love me? I understand that you'll probably have lots of questions and painful feelings about this seemingly strange and terribly wrong "lifestyle choice" I've made. But I think, in time, you'll come to accept it. If you need help, contact Parents and Friends of Public Employees. Before you know it, you'll be attending Pride rallies and chanting "We're here! We're funded by your hard-earned tax dollars! Get used to it!" right along with all the other PFoPE members.

At any rate, that stereotype of the slack-jawed, lazy-ass state worker? Is a big fat lie. In our office, at least. I'm lucky enough to work with a group of fairly ridiculously thoughtful, talented and intelligent people. (Well, other than their career choice, they're smart.) And the only thing that keeps us sane during these long, stressful days? Kvetching to each other about how hard we're working.

Ordinarily, I'm not at all the sort who participates in competitive discomfort. (You know the type: Person A says "Boy, am I tired." Person B responds "You're tired?! I haven't slept in a week!") But recently I've been mentally one-upping my married/coupled coworkers. They at least have some small hope of going home and finding that a load of laundry has been done, or that dinner has been cooked, or that the recycling has been lugged out to the curb. After a very long day at work, they get to interact--at least briefly--with a person who isn't a coworker.

When one dear, sweet man in my office was gently complaining to me about how bad he felt neglecting his wife and kids while he worked all these crazy hours, I actually found myself thinking, Yeah, well, at least you've had sex this year.

Clearly, I need a day off.