![[ What a timestamp. ]](atwork.jpg)
That's me at work, at 10:15 p.m. last night.
At least I went home a few minutes later. The night before was worse. I got home a few seconds before midnight.
It's insane. Now that it's finally March, we can't even take comfort in the words "next month" anymore. Over a year of planning and more than $2 million comes to a head in 14 days. Two weeks.
For a brief but incredible few days, Honolulu will be the hub of international business in the Pacific rim. And our office is at the center of the bullseye.
Sure, this final stretch of madness is still nothing compared to a bad day at Ka Leo. But it ain't a hip-hop pool party either. Definitely still hazardous to my health.
In the interests of survival, I've started going home at a reasonable hour — 5:30 p.m. — to eat dinner and spend some quality time with Jen and Katie, and then going back to work for a few more hours.
Before, I'd be at work, and work and work and work, and as the sun went down I'd get more and more stressed, trying to finish one more thing before it got too late, before Jen got too upset, before cooking dinner ended up out of the question leaving us with Zippy's or McDonald's instead. I'd stumble in the door exhausted and frustrated about all the work left to do, and during the hour or so I'd have with my family before Katie went to bed, I'd still only be able to think about work.
Slipping out and coming back sounds inconvenient, but it's a better arrangement I'm sure. It just feels better.
I mean, I gave Katie a bath last night for the first time in weeks. It was the most rejuvenating, wonderful, fun, simple moment I've experienced in a long while.
Fourteen days until the meeting. Twenty days until its over.
I have to survive. Frankly, I'm too curious not to. Everyone's been working 100 hour work weeks, all because of this conference, and I can't even remember what life was like before it came up on radar. What on earth will we do with ourselves after the gavel falls and everyone goes home?
Other than collapse in a heap and sleep for a week, I mean.
![[ Hawaii State Ballet and Saigon Passion. ]](javascript:openWindowWide('hsb.jpg', 'remote');)
Every Tuesday and Thursday, I enjoy a stupid little giggle on the way to campus.
Right across the street from Ala Moana Center, along Kapi`olani Boulevard, is a funky collision of tenants courtesy Honolulu's bizarre commercial real estate market.
The same plaza is home to the noble Hawaii State Ballet Studios, and the infamous Saigon Passion III strip club.
The ballet studio, in fact, is located above the club. When there's a ballet practice session going on upstairs, you can bet there are more than a few doubletakes by passing pedestrians.
"And if you don't make it here," I can imagine a crotchety old ballet instructor barking, "You can always try next door."