Today’s conundrum, I can’t decide to file under “Huh?” or “What the FUCK?”

The place of employ is a pretty intense environment of some incredibly gifted and dedicated folks doing all sorts of saving mankind, that sort of bullshit, work. I, as per usual in the past decade and a nickel or so, am not actually pursuing anything intellectual, life altering or otherwise good-work like. Nope, I just like to support smart people doing smart things.

(It’s probably some fucked up perversion that I’m spending my time being a wicked smart among a tier of society, administrative support, which is rarely recognized for its intellectual acumen, rather than maybe having a job where I would have a secretary of my own. Overachieving in the slow lane.)

So, some days there ain’t nothing to do but fuck around on the world wide web, write, bug my beau at his job, call friends Back East and generally slack. If the phone isn’t ringing and nothing’s due, I can be quite efficient at doing very little and collecting a paycheck.

Lately, there’s been a wave of the other kind of day. Days when the phone doesn’t stop, people keep stopping by and you decide to stay a few minutes longer past day’s end to toss out a few emails and settle a couple things, just so you don’t start the next day already feeling behind. Today was one of those days. It was a tad compounded by a visitor who was slow to leave and wasn’t my view of low maintenance.

Nonetheless, I left in an upbeat mood, thinking “Oh well, tomorrow I guess I’ll do some of my own stuff at their desk.” I hit the their free gym and drove home roof down, tunes honking loud and sunshine still on my face.

A couple blocks from my abode, my cell phone rings. It’s not the boyo as expected, it’s the boss. She has a quick question and is very, very, very sorry to bother me. I answer the question, really not a trouble at all, but the boss goes on to ask about my staying late. She’s quite adamant and congenial in insisting I have to take care of myself and my own personal life and not work extra time. You know, don’t let myself get all sucked into overwork and worry, leave on time and just do what I can do.

Sounds great.

Except for one thing, this whole thing about extra time and taking care of myself has come up on my cell phone. After work. When I’m almost home. When the reason it sounds like a bad connection is because of the wind through my convertible and the stereo cranked in the back. When, you see, I’m living my life and taking care of myself and have left the office.

Now the puzzle I must solve is how to explain to an actually brilliantly bright woman (when it comes to her research and book-learned shit anyway) that these scenarios are irreconcilable. Either, I take your phone calls off hours, or we all give a shit about the confines of my 40-hour existence, and when the day ends work stops, no matter the looseness of the ends.

Personally, I would rather work a bit extra and not be bugged on my own time. Truth is, when I start hitting comedy clubs hard, I’ll be turning off the cell and letting voicemail be my friend. You gots to do what you gots to do.

But, how do you explain to someone exactly where your boundaries lie and that what, I think, is her sincere concern is a tad misplaced.