Guilty pleasures

So, last week, D-day, Year Zero, or – as I prefer to call it – Monday, came and went, heralding the start of my first non-working week.  Now, you have my permission to beat me if I’m ever discovered complaining about having a year off work, but a couple of things have surprised me about this business of lazing about.  Namely:

1.  An unfortunate combination of Protestant work ethic and Catholic guilt (deeply confusing if, as I am, you’re from the West of Scotland) made me feel inordinately uncomfortable in the first few days about not going to work, a bit like I was taking a  massive sickie.  Out for a coffee the other day, the only customer in the restaurant at 2 o’clock in the afternoon, surrounded by busy waiting and cooking staff getting ready for the evening’s business, I wanted to stand up and shout, “I’ve worked hard to be this lazy, you know!”  You can stop weeping for me, however – I seem to be getting over this.  Which brings me to…

2. How quickly these work-free days whizz by!  By the time I get up, have breakfast, maybe go get a few bits and pieces of shopping, do an online survey or three (more of which anon), have lunch, watch a bit of telly, why, its almost time for my 3 o’clock nap.  Don’t let anybody tell you it’s easy not working.

Which has made me think, if I’m not careful, the year will zoom past.  I’m not convinced I want a year of not planning anything in particular to end up being the year of having planned nothing at all.  Maybe I need a plan.

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