People who think that time is a constant are wrong. How can anyone think it’s a constant when days off go by so much faster than days at work? Eight hours at work drag on forever but forty eight hours off disappear in a heartbeat.
They do have something in common, though. In both cases there doesn’t seem to be anything to show for the passage of time. (Well, every couple weeks the numbers in my checking account get bigger, but that’s about it.)
Yeah, it was one of those weekends, the kind where nothing productive happens despite all the best intentions any world has ever seen.
In my own defense, I was battling back pain most of my two days off. And I did do laundry and wash up a bunch of dishes. And ran some errands and took the dogs to visit the residents of the long term care facility where I work.
(Exciting life I lead, huh?)
I’m currently a Triple D: Drained, Discouraged, and Dreading going back to work.
Drained because two days off really isn’t enough time to recharge. (I’m not sure how many days it takes, but I know that it’s more than two.)
Discouraged because I did very little that was writing related. (And by “very little” I mean that I entertained a new plot bunny. Well, a new character. I don’t really have a plot to put her in yet, although she might fit into an urban fantasy or paranormal thing I have floating around the edges of my mind.)
And Dreading going back to work because… well, because work.
On the other hand, for some reason that I have yet to really understand, I find that I am frequently more productive in the couple hours I have online before work than in the couple days I have off, so maybe there’s still hope that before I go to work today I can do some of the stuff I haven’t done in the past two days.
And maybe one of those things will be putting words together in a story.
Preferably one I’m already working on, and not something new.