As the second three-day weekend in a row meanders towards a close, it occurs to me that three days is not nearly sufficient. It’s not that I have major plans or a enormous list of things to do. Everyone around here knows that nine times in ten I’m just as happy not leaving the house. The hermit tendency is strong in this one. The point is, I like I’m not on anyone’s schedule but my own (duh, who doesn’t). I like not getting sucked into meetings or repeating myself by email for the third time about something that the person on the receiving end may or may not care about. I enjoy not driving for forty minutes to go sit in a cube when I’d much rather drive 40 minutes in the opposite direction and be halfway to the beach.

I’m a year older now, but don’t seem to be any closer to really accepting the idea that I’m built for work in any traditional sense. It’s not that work sucks particularly, just that there are a million other things I’d rather be dong (again, duh, who doesn’t). Look, I’m perfectly happy to have a job that pays the bills. I recognize how incredibly fortunate I am in that respect. Even so, it’s hard to think of myself as passionate about PowerPoint, memos, and meetings. It’s one thing to do it and be good at it, it’s another thing to love it in its own right. Maybe I’ve just missed the point somewhere.

Until I’ve found some way to monitize being snarky and dispensing smartassed comments, it’s a good bet that I won’t be giving up my day job. Still, in a perfect world, it seems to me that there should be a way to sit on the deck with my nose in a book and somehow scrape up enough scratch to get by. Then again, just “getting by” has never been a strong suit for me either so I guess I’d better suck it up and get my head back in the game for the week ahead.