More time for myself

I recently approached my department head at work and asked, "Can I work just four days a week?" Thanks to the economic slowdown (yes, there's always something to thank for!), she said yes. So starting the second week of February, I have been a persona non grata in the office on Wednesdays. Of course, that means forgoing four or three days' worth of wages each month, but I can't help to think that it's a sweet deal. Work for two days, break, work for another two days, then break again. I originally intended this arrangement so I can have more time to practice writing and basically launch myself into a freelance writer. Credits to Malcolm Gladwell and his concept of the 10,000 hour rule.

But last Wednesday afternoon, as I was walking on Sherbrooke Street without a very defined destination, I realized how else those free Wednesdays benefit me. They keep me sane and unjaded from the debilitating routine of having a full-time job, living in a comfortable home and being in a steady relationship.

Those three things, I have realized, make me feel like I'm being nursed in a mental hospital, if I may use that rather dramatic illustration. You live in an environment where your needs are attended to and where you are kept safe from harm, but slowly and unknowingly, you start to lose yourself in your own comfort zone. You forget what else is out there and you've become too lazy to get up and find out.

I'm not saying I don't want my job. I'm not saying my home is a shit hole. I'm not saying I don't love my boyfriend. In fact, it's the total opposite. They could be my downfall because they make me comfortable.

Isn't it funny, absurd even, that I'm saying all this? When a lot of people out there are homeless, starving and heartbroken. Maybe it's just me, maybe it's human nature. We just can't help but fuck things up for ourselves.