Being Alone . . .

I worked until 1:30 AM (CT) this morning. Nope. Not looking for a medal or a chest to pin it on . . . just setting the scene. Not only did I work until 1:30 AM but I started the day at 7:00 AM yesterday morning. Nope. Still not looking for a reward.

I love to work. I've talked about it many times and openly here and in many other contexts and environments. I make no apologies for that and hope and pray (literally - I ask G-d on this one) that I never stop enjoying work. As far as I can tell if you're going to give 40, 45, 50, 55 hours a week to something you might as well enjoy it. You might as well love it.

But there is something to be said about this evenings when you're in the office and burning the midnight oil (figuratively - I didn't set fire to anything in the office at the stroke of twelve) and you know you're the only person not only there but in the whole building and you're blaring some of your finalists for "Album of the Year" and the hours are flying by and you're getting stuff done but you realize that everyone else who is otherwise there is not. That the place you otherwise occupy at that hour is empty. The part of your life not work is going neglected. The ice machine in the kitchen makes weird noises. You get my point.

You're there - and you're alone. And that is something I've also talked about . . . this time in a ranting way . . . what it is to be alone vs. lonely. You know what I also make no apologies for loving? Being alone. Sure, sure. I love my daughter and SLF and the, generally, full office and all the other people I spend my waking hours with but when I get a chance to just be with me, myself, and I - I'll take it. Every time.

In that way working until 1:30 AM once every few years is, yep, its own reward. Now if I just had a chest to pin it on.