Working

I've said it before. I'm going to say it again.
Working makes you feel good.
It gives you a purpose. And if work is good, it makes life better, fuller.
But if you work too much, or if work isn't good, it takes over. And stresses you out. And makes you sick. And leaves no time for anything else.
Not good.
So it's all about getting the right balance. And maybe not caring that much.
This may be my chance to get it right. If I play it right.
Maybe.
I just finished my two day's work this week. Work was good, but the Tube journey was hard both days. Trains delayed, lots of squishing and waiting for the next train.
This morning, my son and I got there late after our train died. And they had to send another. Commuting is often hard.
So I've had actually had enough for this week, if truth be told. Even though another day's money would certainly come in handy.
Tomorrow, there's old ladies yoga at the same place that does the old ladies pilates. So may do that.
Nice to have the day off when everyone's working.
But then nice to work too.
You don't enjoy your time off if you're always off.
They want me to work a bit more the next month, to cover for a colleague who's going back to the States for an extended vacation.
So I'll average three days a week this coming month. Three days may be the magic number.
But then I'm going to take a month off, I told them.
My youngest is coming for 10 days at Christmas.
And then I'm going to Italy to settle my eldest in for his Rome internship.
Really want to spend some time in Italy now. Been away almost two months now, which feels like a lot. Left precipitously when my freelance job unexpectedly emailed.
Working.
Can't live without it. Can't live with it.