Do You Work To Live? Or Do You Live To Work?

And my weekend starts, lovely. I wouldn't have it any other way.

5.15am. Otto is awake in his play pen. I see his little head moving in the dim light. I pull on my clothes in the dark and take him outside for a wee and a shit, and he does both.

I put him in his crate in the lounge room and make coffee.

Bruno lies at the door of Otto's crate for a time, as though he is keeping an eye on him, then he joins me on the couch.

I scroll Facebook for the first time in ages, I don't know why. This is why I don’t go on Facebook any more, it becomes a lot of mindless scrolling. I never really know what I am looking for, just something better.

Do you work to live? Or do you live to work?

I have very rarely worked full time in my life. It was always 4 days per week, having Monday off. Now it is 3 days. I did work full time in the 2000s, at the most miserable work place. I'm not sure those two things necessarily go together, but in this case it did.

The CFO was my big boss. The Director of Finance was the next one down. The CFO was nice. The Director of Finance was a psychopath. Unfortunately, the CFO deferred back to the Directory of Finance, and she made all of our lives miserable.

The CFO was a lesbian who operated along lesbian lines, looking to the Director of Finance as her Girl Friday, if you like.

The Director of Finance was mentally unstable, suffering most obviously from anorexia for a number of years.

The Director of HR wasn't interested in doing anything about it, as essentially, there was nothing in it for her. She was an old war horse of years standing, who only ever thought of herself.

The three of them ganged up on the Director of IT forcing him out of the company. He commented that it was like meeting with the Witches of Eastwick in his final meeting.

"Ohhhhhhh." Look of disbelief. "They are first class bitches, the 3 of them."

Anyway, that was my years of full time work. Those bitches taught me it just wasn't worth it. Not the money, not the reputation, nothing.

I took a couple of years off, after that. Then I did contract work. Then I worked full time for a couple of years. Then I quit to write a novel, and when that novel didn't eventuate, I stared working 3 days per week.

Do what you love, if you are lucky enough to be in a position to do so.

7am. Sam is up.

I make more coffee.

I make Vegemite toast for my breakfast. Sam doesn't eat breakfast.

We have a mate staying, Tim. He says he wants to lose weight, so he isn't eating breakfast either. Although, he gives in a little later and feeds his face.

Otto barrels around the house like only puppies can. He leaps about. He hangs off Bruno's face. Bruno looks philosophical.

I am still scrolling Facebook. Somebody stop me.

9am. The rain starts to fall heavily. Last night's weather report said it would only rain for a short time today. Is the TV weather report ever accurate? I don't know.

Sam has started work.

I make more coffee.

I'm still mindlessly scrolling Facebook. I bite the bullet and just sign out of it. There, done! I'm done with that shit.

Bruno and I are on the couch together. Now, where was I with writing?

Otto is back in his crate, after he turned into a biting machine.

I am trying to will myself back to my fiction blog and the re-writing of my stories, which is going quite well.