When people at work tell me how very, very overworked they are, I tend to call bullshit. I think most people are lazy and inefficient. I myself am terribly efficient, but only because I am terribly lazy and am always looking to complete my work in the shortest time possible, so I can read recaps of “7th Heaven” on Television without Pity. (Have you ever seen “7th Heaven”? I haven’t, but the recaps are hilarious. I am addicted.)

When I was first starting on my career in pharma, my laziness-fueled efficiency, combined with my eagerness to retain my cushy job, led me to respond with alacrity to every request for assistance. Taking on new responsibilities when asked, without complaining, became first a habit and then, as I became more established, a point of pride. I enjoyed seeing how much of my work I could streamline and automate, how much faster I could work. This was not a trait that endeared me to my colleagues when I was a regular employee, but when you’re self-employed, more work = more money.

Now, though, I have to join the ranks of the whiny. I am overwhelmed with work.

It’s not that I have too many hours of work, exactly. I’m not tied to the computer fifteen hours a day, or anything like that. But I have three big projects right now, each of which requires my complete attention, as well as the usual life stuff like keeping a household running, coordinating my calendar with Husband’s, keeping Dog on his schedule and, oh yeah, caring for my son.

This is not the way I usually work. Typically, I have one big project in which I am immersed and a bunch of small side projects. I usually keep all the projects running in the background of my brain and toggle from one to the other, sometimes from one minute to the next. That strategy is just not working, though, with three big projects. It’s too much to multi-task; to be really effective, I have to comparmentalize. To work on one project, I need to put everything else in my brain away — not just minimize the windows, but shut down the applications completely. Then and only then do I have the mental bandwidth to internalize all the details I need to work effectively on that project.

It’s the compartmentalization that terrifies me. I’m not used to putting things away, mentally; what if I lose something for good? I live in fear that I’m going to forget something big at the last minute, like a business trip or a meeting. As it is, I find myself sitting in nondescript hotel conference rooms trying to get a glimpse of the hotel address on the little notepads that they leave on the table, so I can remind myself: “Tulsa, Tulsa. That’s right, these must be the urinary incontinence people. Or are they the diabetic foot ulcers?”

I need to trust, trust that it will all be there when I get back, recorded in my computer if not in my brain. This is hard. It’s hard for work, and it’s even harder for my personal life. I’ve learned to compartmentalize Aitch and Husband as well, and I hate that. When I first went back to work (two days after Aitch came home; Husband and I continued to work full time and travel half time, and the person who was home got all the child care responsibilities; how nutty was that?), I couldn’t imagine ever detaching from Aitch mentally, and for a long time I didn’t. Work was accomplished via twenty-minute stretches sandwiched in between feedings and playtime, naps and baths. In the old house Aitch’s bedroom and my office were two halves of an open third floor, so he was always literally right there.

Now Aitch goes to day care about six hours a day, Husband’s home much of the time, work has taken off, and I’ve learned to let myself be taken off with it. This is the original mother-guilt — not “how could I let someone else raise my child?” but “how could I separate my personal life from my professional life?”

Not “how can I,” but “how could I?”