Though I can’t recall what I said exactly, it was something along the lines of “I’ve been waiting for the weekend.” As those words left my lips, there was a subtle change in the atmosphere of the car, as if there was now some judgement mixed with the cool air of the air conditioner.
That’s when someone said out loud what was probably roller-skating in everyone’s mind: “But you work from home, why do you care about the weekend?”
*Cue internal sigh*
I can’t lie; I knew it was coming. For a moment I was speechless. Not because I didn’t have an answer, but because I couldn’t understand how someone couldn’t understand.
Perhaps because I am a writer, people assume I type whatever I like on a blank screen and sell a skill that apparently everyone has for money that just slips out of my laptop’s vent.
As a serious freelance writer, I feel like a hamster running on a wheel that no one can see.
I spend most days of my week working. When the weekend rolls in, I take a break, because it’s 2020 and self-care is worth more than a dime.
Kidding. I take time off because regrouping and refreshing are important to ensure