Monday, June 29, 2009

Freedom. Sweet, horrible freedom.

Today was the day to which I've been looking forward for ten months.

It's Monday, I woke up at 9:39, and I wasn't late for work.

It hasn't fully sunk-in that I have my life back for two whole months — it takes about two or three weeks to reach my Full Relaxation Potential (FRP). However, once FRP is achieved, the following things start to happen:
  • days of the week will no longer matter
  • time will be a mere suggestion (except when meeting up with other people, paying bills, and so on)
  • my handwriting will deteriorate from lack of use to roughly match that of a six-year-old's
  • bedtimes get later
  • wake-up times get much later
  • I can stand to look at a red pen again (albeit from a distance)
As Will-Ferrel-as-Robert-Goulet once suggested, "You get the idea." Mind you, because not everybody gets this nice chunk of time off, it's not as fun and exciting as it could be; after all, most of my friends have jobs which require working during July and August (imagine that!).

Now, I know what you might be thinking:

Those friggin' slackers... they get two months off in the summer! [begin snarky, sarcastic tone] I wish I had two months off in the summer.

To this, I have a few stock responses:
  1. If you do your job right, and I think I do, you'll be well burnt-out by the end of ten months of going hard every day.
  2. We pack twelve months' worth of work into ten, so what are we going to do with the rest of the time?
  3. Most people don't have to pre-schedule their bathroom breaks during their workday.
And, of course, my favourite:
  1. You're more than welcome to join us.
That last one is usually met with something like, "Ah, well, I could never do that job, I don't have the patience to work with those little hellraisers." Some of us do, though, and we like a little bit of time away from them, thanks.

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