So I’m having one of those weeks that I had, well, every DAY at the InvestorRanch. Just a cyclone of deadlines and the crushing weight of two jobs (manager vs. the person who has to get shit done too).

I’ve been stressed. But not as much as I used to be. In fact, I know my limits so much better now. I used to just sit there till midnight, cranking out my to-do list like a good little girl. And it took a pay raise and a few dozen trips to the beach since then, but I have things to do.

I play too vital a role to bring a burned-out brain to the situation. I have too many people counting on me — even if I can’t whip through the massive to-do list on their preferred schedule, I need (hell, I WANT) to be professional and approachable and not a snappish, psychotic mess. Which is pretty much my default setting after the past year spent working in the den of iniquity.

The good news is, this week will end. The bad news is, this week will end. I have my furry little buddy sitting here at my feet as I attack my inbox. And I’ve had to leave every day by a certain time to make sure he didn’t have any accidents in the house while waiting for me.

So, by rights, I probably WOULD have worked till all hours this week. But that this just so happened to be my week with George … with seven THOUSAND deadlines plus a new (glorious!) employee starting … I’ll take that as a sign from God that keeping my balance was the universe’s priority. And that it should be mine.

I didn’t get to celebrate any achievements with wine last night. But tonight? Bring it on, baybees. …

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