This week has been particularly crazy at work.
There’s a new person on my team who needs training, but I’ve been so busy, I haven’t been able to train her like I wanted to.
Being busy wasn’t unexpected, but things came up that added even more to the load.
And we had a near-disaster. We got it solved before it could get too far, but it wouldn’t have taken much for things to get really bad, really fast.
All of this could have happened last week, or two weeks from now, or in another month, but I know why it happened this week.
Because I’m going on vacation.
On Friday morning, my wife and I are getting on a train to New York City, where we’re going to see “My Fair Lady” at Lincoln Center that night and a Yankees game (assuming they aren’t rained out) Saturday.
New York is my favorite city — after we visited one of our other favorites, London, earlier this year — so I’m especially excited.
We come back Sunday, but I’m off all next week.
Any time a vacation is coming, there’s always the work involved in making sure my team is ready to cover for me, but the regular work always seems harder, because it’s impossible to have a nice, easy glide into getting away from work.
Of course, there’s no empirical evidence or logic behind this — no grand conspiracy to make me earn my time off.
But you’ll never convince me it isn’t true.