Since picking up some freelance work for the local paper I haven't really had many non-working days. On Friday I decided that this weekend I would put away the pen until Monday morning and then just jam 3 articles out.
Very reminiscent of my college days.
So yesterday I woke up bright and early (thanks to dear son) and turned my energies to our music class, the garden, cleaning, and bouncing about town. Free from work stuff, I could actually begin to enjoy the town, although I have to admit that future stories were trying to creep into my head. [Hello 6 empty store fronts on Nason Street...hey guys, maybe you should lower your rent!]
Today being Sunday (and the evening so my day is done) I had done enough in the yard and around the house to begin to relax. I had brunch with a friend and her daughter at the Beehive in Boston where I've been wanting to go since it opened, checked out a local art store where I contemplated buying an over priced book on weaving (made it out the door cash in hand), took kiddo for a nice run to work off the beignets I had with breakfast (not as breakfast...), and then meandered over to the neighbors backyard party.
Not very relaxing you may think. But I wasn't working.
If A is work and B is relaxing, then -A=B.
I don't care what I'm doing as long as I'm not in my office. Once in my office I become a clock watcher. Things wear on me quickly. My back instantly tenses and joints go out of alignment. It's where hatred is born.
Even with 3 articles looming I am less tense than I would be had I spend the day chained to my desk watching the manuscript files move from the left column to the right one, even if I did knock out the articles in my spare time.
The point of this post is to let people know that even if you think I'm crazy and doing stuff all over the place, I'm much happier digging ditches than sitting in my lovely office.
I am the guy from Office Space.