So it has been about seven months since I returned to work. The work that pays the bills temporarily while I finish my masterpiece of a first book (yeah I think it is brilliant, judge me, I can’t hear ya!). I feel as though “work,” is cramping my style. I told myself I would never be one of those people working for the weekend, but here I am thanking god for every Friday and catching a case of the Mondays by Sunday morning.
Work sucks for those of us who have to do it. For me this is certainly temporary but I still cannot help but to wait for the moment in which I am no longer doing a job just to do a job. Writing is freeing, this moment I am taking to talk about it, is freeing. Writing is everything that “work,” isn’t.
I am not much of a complainer but I have nothing to gain in the 9-5 job I have now, well 7-3:30. Sure, I have a decent schedule but by time they are done with me for the day, I am completely done with myself for the day. I kick myself in the ass everyday for not being done sooner with my goal and not realizing my writing dream sooner but just as I am about to give in to my little pity party I remind myself, it is all happening for a reason.
There are some experiences that I have lived that I otherwise would not have experienced had I started my life at the “right,” time. So with that in mind, I am glad to be where I am mentally. Though my physical surroundings do not suit me entirely, I know I will not be crunching numbers for another person much longer. This job has an expiration date and I am sorry, I am not sorry. . . .not really. I am not sorry at all!