As you know, I moved home to small town Iowa to continue living the self-unemployed lifestyle.
Here I can live in something resembling comfort while only doing ten hours of freelance work a week. The remainder of the time I’m free to pursue my own interests. I can go to the gym or work on a novel. I’m supposed to brainstorm on some business ideas, but I don’t feel like it at the moment. The pace is slower here, and I’ve lost my sense of urgency. Partly it’s that I’m no longer rushing from place to place; more significantly it’s that I have no great ambition for the future.
Monday and Tuesday are strenuous two-hour workathons. Sometimes I even work overtime. After work I hit up the grocery store before lunch. I always buy an item that requires a “price check” because I think it’s fun. For those of you unfamiliar with small grocery stores, this occurs when the item you want to buy isn’t logged in the computer and an actual human person must locate the poorly-described item in question, discern its price, and return this information to the checker in the form of a high-pitched scream. The checker then enters the price and the computer promptly forgets it so you can do it again next time.
Wednesday I take my middle weekend. I play Mario Kart, watch movies, read a novel, break out a 20oz pop. I get a burger and cheese balls. I may run some errands or mow the lawn. I’ll probably wash my tower of dishes that’s glued together with pasta bits.
Thursday I recuperate from my middle weekend. I decide to get ethnic food, which means a taco burger at the greasy spoon. I usually go into the backyard sans shoes and lock myself out. Then I have to walk a block to the middle school and inconspicuously meander down the halls to my mom’s office for the spare.
Friday I mentally prepare for my coming weekend.
Saturday and Sunday I brood about how I can’t get anything done.
I can get used to this.