confessions of a young (?) workaholic

The past month has been crazy. And I mean crazily crazy. I was practically working non-stop day and night (yes, I managed to squeeze some breaks in-between but all I could remember was me with the laptop, the laptop with me, me with a whole lot of newspapers, a whole lot of newspapers with me). I vaguely remember having proper dinners, probably because even when I was having them, my mind was on the 101 things that I haven't finished or even started doing at work. The only think that I could remember was that thankfully, I got my butt out of the chair and jog a bit on a regularly basis.

Ok, I know. My workload is probably not the heaviest, I am probably not the hardest working one, there are a million out there who are doing more and working harder, and so I don't know why I am feeling grouchy. I really don't know... perhaps the frustrations of feeling that sometimes, the work that we do is not as value-adding? that sometimes, I am questioning the rationale and the need to do certain things? Heck, a lot of things. And perhaps, the meaning of why I joined the organisation in the first place is slowing fading away.

Don't get me wrong. I love working. I love the adrenaline of working towards something and the sense of satisfaction I get when I accomplished an assignment, like the one which has been handed down to me when my colleague suddenly resigned earlier this month. Love knowing that I gave my all to what I did. So again, I ask myself, "Hey woman, what's wrong with you ah? Early menopause?"

The search for answer is killing me, as I wait in suspense on what I would do next. It's like I don't know myself anymore... It's like swimming in fast currents without knowing where I will be going or more importantly, where I want to go. Should I just follow the flow or attempt to head towards another direction? I may only find the answer when I look back a fews years from now. In the meantime, the urgent task at hand is to keep my sanity as best as I could.