Yesterday, I was awake at 6am. I got up and got dressed in the dark on the floor, as you do, and then headed downstairs. I couldn't get the new job out of my head, 4 days per week. Do I really want to work 4 days per week? Isn’t this my time for writing? Isn’t that effectively saying, I give up, I’ll never be able to write anything, I might as well go back to a shitty corporate office that I hate? Isn’t that what that is saying? Didn’t I decide that I’d rather be poorer doing something that I love, even if it gets me nowhere, than richer doing something I hate? Didn’t I say that? Why am I giving it up so easily? I have been pleased with the writing that I have been doing these last 10 months, I have written quite a few stories, I seem to be getting into the hang of it. I still seem not to have a clue what to do with them when they are done, but that will come? Self-pusblishing comes to mind, but, I am pretty sure, it has to be a novel. With an awful lot or rewriting, I could transform Amy and Lillian into a novel. I could. (I have more 5 chapters)
Beck called early, I was taken aback, 4 days per week was suddenly barking at me and I didn’t answer. The thought of working 4 days per week… um… er... suddenly in my face, I recoiled.
I went for an hours walk, to think about it, listening to the last of my Diana Ross tracks, then it was straight back onto my Rolling Stones ballads playlist. It is forgivable to not take Beck's call, I could have been doing anything, but I would have to call her back, I knew that.
When I pulled my glasses out to change the music, as I was walking, I must have pulled my house key out too, and with headphones on I didn’t hear it go jangle, jangle to the ground. So, when I got home I had no key. I messaged Leonard to see if he was home. Then I called Andy, as it is Friday he was still home at 10am. He left not long after. Few!
I headed to the locksmith to get a new front door key cut. I called Beck. The job will be kind of casual, she is going to work full time, moving back to Melbourne, she did a tree-change not long ago. "I'm going to commute, it will be great." But she missed Melbourne, let's hope she can afford to buy back the house she sold. And I am going to take up the slack. And it doesn't start for nearly a month. It sounds perfect. Beck asked me to send my resume. They still have to build a business case for my role, and it still has to be okayed by head office. Beck has told Siobhan, another ex-work colleague, who is very excited.
I whistled on my way back home, yes, whistled. I caught myself whistling. WTF, I thought? Why am I whistling? It was a gorgeous day, sure. But, you know, I reckon it is because the anxiety of not having a job, the anxiety around wondering if I should get a job, the anxiety around thinking I have done the right thing regarding my job, had all lifted. Suddenly, not a care. Funny, the way the mind works, hey?
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