For the 2nd Saturday in a row, I’ve chosen to come in to work. I could actually make a habit of this. Hopefully there won’t be a need for it to become a habit, but for now, it’s really not so bad. For one thing, I’m hourly. So I do get to clock in. I’m not here for the money, though. I’m here to shake that god-awful feeling of continuously being 7,000% behind on each and every task I’m responsible for.
Perhaps I’ve said it before that one of my blog policies is not to go into too many details about work. And so I won’t. But I just want to take a moment to write this: working on a Saturday is oddly like the opposite of working during the week. Instead of feeling like I have to show up and once here, I’m expected to move entire sand dunes from one mile to the next with nothing but a spoon (the way weekdays feel lately), working on Saturday feels like each and every tiny thing I do is a bonus: any little accomplishment is one less thing that will be haunting me the moment I wake up on Monday. It’s like the clock has stopped for all my opponents in an imaginary race and I get to keep on moving forward. Even if I stroll along, stop to blog, wander off to the coffee shop, every little step is an advantage. Sigh.
Now if only the apartment would simultaneoulsy clean itself . . .