Interestingly, I’m not all that bothered about being alone on my days off. Yes, I do reach a point where I get tired of going to events alone, but it takes me a while to get there. Generally I enjoy my own company and never run out of things to do.
It’s the weekday slog that gets to me. I slept like a baby during over the three-day-weekend, but last night I was tossing and turning again and revisiting that old feeling of “I hate my life.” It’s the job, although not specifically this job. It’s the 40-hour-workweek routine that I have just never cottoned to, even after two decades of trying. It doesn’t suit me. You would think I would appreciate having somewhere to go–a place where I had a role– but I would prefer to have more free time. I don’t know if I will ever finagle that, but I still dream of working part-time.