This week has been a strange one for me. Let’s just say I’ve been suicidally, job-walk-outedly, resentfully unhappy for weeks now, being forced as I am to “bring home the bacon” for two people with little more than a “have a good day hun” to sustain me.
But I just sort of snapped this week. Crick, snapped. And I became a dick.
I found myself weirdly disconnected from everything. I looked at success in a new way and I thought of what success meant to me. It means hard, too-hard, over-hard, and ultimately-paying-off work. It means getting up at 7am, writing for 1-2 hours, going to work, coming home, writing again for an hour, showering, reading for an hour, then sleeping. It means no time for bullsh@$. Two hours tops of time actually for my own personal enjoyment each day. Everything else: earmarked for the future.
But, the weekend after, I’m actually happier. My boyfriend got the crap end of the stick with my distance and caustic attitude, poor guy. And it’s going to stay this way for a while. BUT, I regret nothing of the past week.
This Monday will be my last zero day.
Do what you thought you could never do for a week. Succeed how you never thought you could. And then over the weekend, see how you feel, and ask yourself: do I do this again?