It’s unhealthy to get used to working overtime, way into the night. You start to get rhetorical, to rationalise the imbalance: “Well, what else would I be doing with my time?”
Doesn’t help when minor snarkiness has to be borne about the plodding pace of one’s work thanks to the lack in one’s choices.
So, I felt touched by an angel tonight when CM came up and announced that I was to go home right then and there. And I did.
Now here I am.
What to do with the precious hour before bed?
And beyond, to the precious days and weeks and months and years (God willing) before death?