Chocolate Covered Goodness

I work at a school. A big one. Theoretically, for grown-ups. Theoretically. School started back last week and needless to say, it stinketh.



Keep in mind, I am a spoiled state-employee. My cushy government job enabled me over the summer to read and surf the net. Not a lot, but enough to keep me moderately sane. There were days when only staff was present...no teachers nor students nor any other work-demanding-form. It was quiet. It was bliss.



Now. There have not been enough hours in the day to get everything done. And I am not permitted to work over 40 hours. So the work piles up and there is nary a minute to troll the net nor read blogs nor email nor read the lovely books. I have to actually work. At work.



Not that I'm complaining. No, no. The Job provides health insurance. Vacation days. A slight tuition discount for the lovely Husband. It is a blessing. But I hate, hate beyond the fire of a thousand suns, that I am the copy girl. Some days are great, I get to edit, proofread, create graphics for various professorial projects. But, oh woe to me, the days that I am the copy girl. They are a misery.



And I feel fairly secure in stating that I am the most ridiculously over-educated copy girl. I graduated with honors from one of the best schools in the nation. Not ivy-league, but still! I have a masters degree. I wrote a thesis. In three languages. And now, I am the copy girl.



Why? You ask. Lovely. I will tell you.



Love. Sappy as that may sound. I fell in love. And, as is appropriate when entering the love state, I lost all reason. The Husband worked crappy jobs (I am the copy girl, he was the corpse guy) to support me while I wrote my mundane and yet hoity-toity thesis in three languages. So it seems only reasonable that I should work to support him in his quest for higher education.



What I find depressing about all of this, is how awed people are that we do it. They're beyond surprised that I would sacrifice my own ambitions to further the Husband's. And the Husband is brilliant. And wonderful. And many many other good adjectives. I guess my question is this: is it really sacrifice if what I get out of it is so much better than I could have possibly imagined?



I know. I'm straying dangerously to the edge of sentimentalism, but this is a piece of a larger question. Why is it so hard as adults to compromise? To sacrifice? Any ideas?