I work, a lot. And I talk about it here, a lot. But I don’t want to give off the wrong idea, I’m not some sort of slave to my jobs. I essentially do this to myself. Don’t get me wrong, I need the money and I don’t work 6-7 days a week just for kicks, but I am notorious for scheduling every minute of my free time. Through high school, I was in class Monday through Friday and worked 20-25 hours a week. In college, I took classes full time and worked 30-35 hours, and always had at least one volunteer opportunity going on. After I graduated from college, I had two internships and my job, and then all of a sudden, my internships ended and I was left with just my 40-45 hour a week job. And I didn’t really know what to do with myself. So, in true Emily fashion, I started looking for extra work and found a family to babysit for part-time. Now I’m back to my usual, crazy busy self, and while part of me loves it, a lot of me is exhausted. In the month of April, I had one day off from all commitments, work or otherwise. And it was April 30. The last day of the month. What was I thinking?!!?
This month, by some bizarre twist of fate, I had two days off from work IN A ROW that I did not request off. This past Tuesday and Wednesday, I slept in (till 9am…my body cannot sleep any later, 9am was a stretch), I read my book in bed until noon (that part was not a struggle), I went for a run, I took a long shower, I treated myself to a hair cut. It was awesome, so awesome. It is what I imagine a real weekend is probably like.
The point of this long, work related ramble, is to say that this week, I’m thankful for the blessing of rest. And young adult novels about post-apocalyptic societies.