–because I should take some life insurance, on the chance that my job kills me in the next two months.
Some of it is my own fault. I’ve got a talk at Berkeley this Wednesday, and then one in Denver at a trade association the following Wednesday, plus my usual commitments (the Red Herring column, some freelance work). But I’ve also got a giant project whose deadline is the end of the month, and another, equally important but vastly different one, that wraps up in mid-November. The future never fails to be interesting. And there’s an awful lot of it.
This is what I get for reading biographies of T. H. Huxley and Alexander the Great in my spare time. I need to find some biographies of people who weren’t workaholics, compulsive writers, megalomaniacs, or capable of existing on a couple hours’ sleep a night. Maybe that new Paris Hilton autobiography would restore some balance to my life.
This is one of the occupational hazards of studying the Victorians: you run the risk of picking up some of their work habits and attitude.