16 Weeks But Who’s Counting? #wfh #lookingforward

I’m counting, that’s who. The remainder of my current employment. The number of weeks until I commence my new employment where I’ll be working for … me. Just me, myself, and I.

It’s interesting that the only “work” people seem to understand is that which you do for a company or a government. That if you say you work for yourself, people assume you don’t work at all. It makes me wonder how work is defined.

I think of my mother who held a minimum-wage job for decades (that is considered work) and who managed to keep a house and raise four children mostly on her own (isn’t that work?).

I work everyday. On average, I spend 40 hours a week tethered to an employer who pays me by EFT. The rest of the time I work to keep my house relatively clean, my clothes relatively clean, my cats relatively clean. We run errands (quickly) to make sure we have enough food, cleaning supplies and wine.

I work at staying healthy and fit. I exercise, take walks, work out in our garage, practice yoga.

The work that I want to do but haven’t been doing is writing and reading. Well, that will change in about 16 weeks. I’m counting down. The first thing I plan to do after I resign is sleep.

I’ll keep going for my early morning walks. I’ll still sit at the computer after my walk, but instead of “logging on” to my employer’s network, I’ll log on to my life as a writer.

In the meantime, I’ll take my bliss where and when I can get it.

The surprise of finding a paper wasp in one of our hurricane lilies.

Or the glory of a colorful morning.

Sometimes I get lucky with the sunrises. Sometimes I’m enchanted by a different vision.

While I hate driving in fog, this vision delighted me. I was walking, of course.

I have a bit of fun with my iPhone camera and an app (Insta Toon).

Don’t I look like someone who needs sleep? At least I no longer need a haircut. Temps around here went up to the mid-80s, with itchy humidity to boot. Impatient with trying to get a hair appointment, not to mention to pick out a hair style I can live with, I grabbed my husband’s beard trimmer.

Guide #4. Roughly a 1/2-inch all around. Greg, dear husband that he is, did the finishing touches. Then I had to trim off his hair. We’re twinses now 🙂

Wendy doesn’t think much of our antics. Here she is, sticking out her tongue in distaste.

I hope all of you are staying healthy and safe. I hope you all are finding some bliss–even if in snatches–during these strange times.