...I won’t be doing what I currently do professionally. And maybe not much longer. I’m throwing in the towel, calling it quits, seeking a pink slip, shoving the job.

At least that’s the way I feel today. I’ve been working 10-12 hours a day for the past six week, six days a week. The seventh day I rest—or rather, collapse. And I’m still buried under an avalanche, with no signs of it stopping. I’m at the breaking point, so much so that all I can do is write in cliches. I’ve been in tears for the past few nights, not tears of anger or frustration but tears of exhaustion.

And the cost to my personal life has been substantial. I haven’t worked out regularly in a month, or cooked a good (in my case, mediocre) meal. Emails and phone calls need to be returned, but I have no energy to do so. And my partner. I’m not quite sure I still have one. (The closet’s still full, so no one’s moved out yet.)

The worst part is, I’m not enjoying the job. Going to work fills me with anxiety. People need stuff from me-lots of emotional stuff-and I’ve got nothing more to give. I realized the new duties I agreed to take on would take up more time, but I hadn’t counted on what kind of time and energy it would take. I’m not sure how long I can last. Too much game-playing, too much politics, too much mind-reading, too much neediness. While I think I’m good at what I do, this kind of work simply isn’t for me. I seem to use what little energy I have to laugh…bitterly, in hopes that I can retain some sense of humor.

So what do I do? Until I get my head on straight, nothing…nothing except post here. A rant, an emotional purge, call it what you will. I’d post it on my blog, but some of the people who read that really don’t need to know where I’m at mentally. And my personal journal is filled with this woe-is-me crap, so obviously I feel the need to share. So here’s the declaration: I’ve had it! The job isn’t worth my life.

But…who knows? Maybe this, too, will pass. Regardless, thanks for listening.