I took a sickie. I have 40 days of accrued unused sick leave, and you know what, I'm going to take it. Well, some of it anyway.
Reading back over my blogs, as my friend Rachel says, "Tell the world to go fuck itself, sometimes it is good for you."
I really want to quit my job, but I am too gutless.
Reading back over my blogs, as my friend Aby said, "Promise me you won't get stuck in some pointless financial job making money for people who don't care about you, you are way better than that."
Sam's worried about losing his job because of AI.
Reading back over my blogs, as my great mate Tom said, "You have to do what makes you happy, just look at me, I'm getting half a life, don't waste any of yours."
Really, Sam having a job, or not having a job, is not dependant on me having a job. Not really.
Reading back over my blogs, as Mark says, "We are all responsible for our own lives, no one else is."
Would I be okay, if I gave up my job and wrote? Oh god (ironic use) I'm guessing you are sick of me asking that question?
Reading back over my blogs, as my gorgeous, funny, intelligent mother said, "I was happily married for 50 years, and all I could think when your father died was, all I want is another 50 years. Life goes so fast, Christian, it really is over before you even know it."
I guess there is a certain danger to go back and read everyone's truths, you know. Or enlightening? I'm still deciding which. Trying not to hate myself.
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