I don't want to believe that just working for the man can make a person feel so much more worthwhile. Is that it? All we have to do is work for someone for our whole lives (make them rich off our labor) and then everything's okay? Are we that weak? Or is just me?
I just finished my five days work here in London. It went well. Got paid to write again, like I used to. (Bliss). I worked hard. They liked it. I liked it. Felt great.
Came home last night, feeling completely different. I felt like I had accomplished something. My work had been validated. Had something to show for my days. Brain tired from thinking of how to string words together nicely, rather than what the hell to do with myself.
My husband was so happy to see me like that again. We talked of where it might lead (maybe nowhere, but it didn't seem to matter), what I could do now, where I could look for more work on the back of this -- all hopeful stuff finally.
We felt closer than we have in awhile because maybe, just maybe, we could start seeing the light at the end of this dark tunnel of mine.
But it's all reliant on others, this perhaps short-lived euphoria. And that just seems stupid -- and weak.
When I was working my buns off for my big newspaper, churning out story after story for years, I yearned to be able to have time for myself, time to go to Italy at length, time to write what I wanted -- time, time, time.
And now I've got time. And all I want is for someone to take it all away again. Please. I beg you.
I was talking to one of the bosses where I worked for the past five days. I told him basically that -- I need to work. Simple as that. And I'll work hard for you.
He laughed -- and looked at me knowingly. It's amazing how that works, he says. When we're working, all we think about is escaping. When we're not working, all we think about is working again.
Yep. Nailed that. Is this just the working man's dilemma?
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