Friday 4 November 2011

Day off

I've never really known how to deal with days off. Today is one of these bizarre creatures.

Days off during the week, to be more precise. Weekends are different. There are normal weekendy things to be doing, usually something happening, often lots of things happening. Other people are off at weekends.

These days I'm likely to be working a fair amount of my weekend time. Last weekend, for instance I spent a sizeable chunk of Saturday at the cleaning job, home just in time for a turnaround and an evening's dancing and socialising, and then I spent Sunday at job number one. My weekend boiled down to an evening. Not a complaint, may I add. It was a good evening, as was the Friday evening. This coming weekend I'm only working on Sunday, but out volunteering with Aberdeen Street Pastors over Saturday night. This weekend will be Saturday daytime. Plans for a bonfire and fancy dress party await.

So yes, weekends, I can do. Weekdays are a different beast. I have now had a whole month of life post-routine. Up to this point in my life weekdays in my memory have meant (in order) Childminder's house, nursery, school, college, university, and this summer volunteering up at the Duck where life was timetabled to the hilt. Even a (thankfully very brief) stint of unemployment meant I had an active task to be getting on with.

Today I have no plans till evening and find myself lacking direction. I ought to do something useful, I ought to do some relaxing and storing up energy for the oncoming mental weekend. I ought to do some cleaning and washing up and laundry to be more prepared for next week, whatever it may bring (no idea what the rota says - it's at work and I'm not). I may also wish to write a few thousand words to put towards this stupid novel-writing thing.

Where to start? Maybe that's the problem.

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