I always hate this phrase because it implies quite negative things about marriage, and about a deep and abiding dedication to one’s work. Still, I think it is rather apt for my current state. I am still working 10-12 hour days (depending on whether it’s a good day or a bad day), and I occasionally hate it. When I hate it, however, it’s because a) my blood-sugar has dropped to a horrendously low level, or b) something (or someone) has made me momentarily angry.
I have always been slightly envious of those who can “work to live”, as they say, because I have never wanted to be one of those who “live to work”. Yet I couldn’t ever be properly satisfied with a job that I didn’t love and feel passionate about, and with that comes the inclination to take on new roles and do whatever is necessary to see that the job is done as well as it can be. And that inevitably involves becoming “married to the job”. As with all marriages (so I’m told), it has to be worked at, though, and sometimes I have to remind myself that I love it after all.