It was 2010. My job, somehow, had become my life.
I was determined to get the ‘guaranteed’ promotion
my manager was dangling in front of me.
If only I did this or that… I was doing it, it didn’t matter.
In the mornings, I would be up before sunrise, scramble to get ready, drop my daughter to school and be in the office by 7.30 a.m.
Lunch was at my desk.
At the end of each day, I’d pick my daughter up and head straight into my home office to work for the next few hours. By seven, I’d have inhaled a glass of wine as I moaned about how much my job sucked, making a quick 30-minute meal (thanks to Racheal Ray) only to then sit in front of the television for hours, with my laptop burning my legs. Don’t even ask me what played on the idiot box.
To add to the joy, every month I would be the lucky recipient of a couple of completely debilitating migraines. I had heartburn daily. Exercise was something I did rushing between meetings, or walking to and from my car.