If we could sort out work, I figure we'd have a lot of life worked out.
Work is a big one.
When we don't have it, we want it. When we do have it, we want to get away from it.
Now that I have just a bit of it, you'd think that might be right.
Wrong.
Shall I try to get more?
There?
Elsewhere?
Working somewhere just a couple days a week means not having to care.
It's actually hard not to care.
Part of me cares.
Another part doesn't.
If you care, you're really part of it.
If you don't, you're not.
Do I want to be more a part of this new place?
Part of me says yes, of course.
You're lucky there is this new place.
Another part of me screeches 'no way.'
Do other things! Fulfill those dreams, girl, damn!
I read a study recently that said older people are much happier than younger people.
And one of the main reasons cited is that they don't have to care about work anymore.
Their careers.
Or lack thereof.
If they've fulfilled their ambitions.
Or haven't.
Or any of that.
What freedom.
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Daniela, this is a poem!
ReplyDeleteI remember when I got my last job, overjoyed, emailing you saying how happy I was - your reply - it won't last! (My happiness, you meant, not my job - but that didn't last either.)
Now I don't have it - and actually I rather like not having a job, but I HATE when people ask me what I do. That is the problem. You are what you do. It was so much easier when You Were what you Ate.