Today was supposed to be my first day of work.
I moved up here on Thursday, and every day since has been a whirlwind of setting up and unpacking. But you’ve got to figure that by Sunday, you have it all wrapped up, right? Sunday is the last free day. On Monday, you report for duty, ready to put words on paper.
So Monday came and went. There was the phone call to the renter’s insurance agent, and the health insurance agent. There was the super coming into the apartment to fix the window and add a deadbolt lock to the door. By the time they left, I needed to clean up after them, and then do laundry, and get a haircut. I had to do my daily PT. Meals needed to be eaten.
By the time all was said and done? It was 2100 hours and I hadn’t written a word. Under normal circumstances, this would be a problem. There’d be no way I could get any substantial work done before I had to get up the next morning …
Oh, wait. I don’t have to get up the next morning anymore. If I want, I can stay up until 0400 writing. If I go to bed at a reasonable hour and then have a typical bout of insomnia, I don’t have to fight it. I can get up and work. If I find myself tired in the middle of the day, I can take a nap, then go back to work when I wake up again. If I need to run errands, it’ll be when stores are actually open. If the cable guy needs to come over between 0900 and 1700, I will be here to let him in and supervise him while he works.
So, yeah. It’s 2130, and it’s my first day of work. Time to get started.
I love my new job.