It's finally spring in London. Leaves are tentatively unfurling; pale winter skin braves the soft sunshine. As I shimmied down the street to the local M&S for my evening meal (yes, my life is just that exciting), I noticed my local pub was so full, punters were spilling out onto the street. What's going on? I thought. Then, I remembered: it's Friday.
Remember those delicious days during the summer when you were young? The days that just passed by, unremarkable except for perhaps a rain shower here or a thunderstorm there? Without a reason to leave the house for anything except play, there was no need to know a Monday from a Wednesday.
Without a 'regular' job now, there is seldom anything to mark the difference for me between weekday and weekend. When I was in the corporate world, each day was duly counted off until the wonderful Friday arrived. Friday night was the height of bliss, knowing that two whole days of freedom lay ahead; Sunday night was the depths of gloom, for coming quickly was another heavy week to struggle through.
Now, every morning when I wake up, I feel a trace of that holiday-like excitement. I have the whole day to do what I want --write! Who cares what day it is? Although not every day is a joy (and sometimes I want to bang my head against my desk until an idea falls out), at least I am in control of me and my life -- no matter what day it is!
**I reserve the right to retract this post at any time in the future, should I feel the urge to return to the corporate world. Well, you never know!**