spent.

I'm a one-mule team. I show up at 9 a.m. on a Saturday, after putting in 11-hour days all week, to finish three apartments, one of which required a fair amount of work still, by the day's end, ahead of tomorrow's open house.

Most of the crew shows up. That's a good start. By noon, half are gone. A few hours later, it's down to me and two others, then it's down to just me, again and as usual. And I put in another 11.5-hour day.

I like my job and I love my employer but I get tired and pissed at the guys who flake out and take off and leave others (me included) holding the bag. And I earn the least of them and work the most.

Sigh. OK, I'm done now.

I can rest now with a clear conscience and the satisfaction of knowing I rose to the (demanding) occasion and did exceptional work. That's not news. What is news is that the three apartments are done, look awesome and will shine tomorrow.

I've been so focused and industrious this past week that I've not had time to discover how tired I actually am.