It was

all those years of managing. With a capital 
M. By myself. As in, taking on the various jobs 
of accountant, short order cook, paper shredder,
juggler, on-call first responder. I told myself, breathless 
just meant I was getting things done. A trip downstairs 
meant an ocular survey of what I could check off my list 
both going and coming. Lug a load of laundry,  start 
the machine. Empty the old coffee filter. Drain the catch 
basket. Put away clean dishes. Toss the half-bottle of fizzy 
water gone flat. Charge the twin pack of weed whacker 
batteries. I have perhaps a B average on bathroom stall 
refinishing, but  an A+ on bidet install. At the grocery,
there are marked-down trays of fish or chicken labeled 
Manager's Special. In my case, Hell yeah.