Buried Alive

This is me...at work...today...which by my calendar reads...Saturday. Blech.

Yep, I've been here since 10:30 this morning - attempting to catch up on the piles upon piles of work that have managed to accumulate on my desk in the last several weeks. It seems that no matter how much time I put in during the day, or how much overtime I do evenings and weekends - I just cannot seem to catch up.
Zig is here too, trying to catch up from the days he missed last week. Alyssa is here doing marking - during her spring break yet, what a trooper!

Here is the sad thing about the whole scenario...I actually don't mind being here. I know - what is wrong with me, right? Well it's not necessarily that I like being here on a weekend, but rather just because of who I'm here with, and that I can listen to my music full volume (because Zig is down the hall listening to his the same way and Alyssa has headphones in) and that we went out to get coffee, and that we can take a break whenever we need one, with no fear of being reprimanded. And, as I've said like 25 times before, I love my job.

I love my office; filled with pictures and drawings, and little notes and plants. I love the actual work; correcting, reading, using red pen, yelling "what!?!" when something is right out of wack. And I love the fact that I can do it at my own pace on the weekends - naturally there are deadlines of course, but I can start and stop, and yell down the hall and crank certain songs and sing along, and laugh out loud at dumb things and work when I feel like it. Awesome.

So, yes, I may be literally buried beneath mountains of paper and 100's of emails - but it's fun just the same and I'm getting work done, so what's not to like about that?

Note to self: Do not mark the time it took to create the "masterpiece" above. Somehow, methinks the powers that be might not accept it as legitimate overtime.