On Friday morning I got ready for work, taking my time as I normally do. I did my makeup, pile my hair on top of my head and pinned it loosely, ironed my long linen skirt and starched my white wrap around shirt. When I left for work, Tay told me I looked nice and hugged me hard and when I stood at the bus stop, safely hidden behind my dark sunglasses, I openly watched the men driving by turning their heads to look at me. It was 8 o’clock in the morning, and I felt fresh and lovely.

But by the time 5 o’clock arrived I was a different person. My shirt and skirt were both wrinkled, my makeup worn away, my hairdo was gradually coming apart. I felt like a shadow of the person I had been in the morning; I felt crumpled. Most days are like this; I take the time and care in the morning to look my best but by the end of the day, I end up looking my worst. And on the days I don’t drive my car, I sit on the subway, feeling slightly shellshocked and I gaze at the women who’s makeup is still fresh, their hair is smooth, their clothing look like it’d just come out of the drycleaning bag.

And that, to me, is perhaps one of life’s greatest mysteries.

Why It’s Worth It To Work 12 Hours All the Time
I’m off this week, having clocked close to 30 hours in comp time, which works out to 4 days. With the stat holiday on Friday, I decided to use my hours and take a week off work. I have no plans really – my thinking is to spend my mornings cleaning/straightening out the house and my afternoons sitting on the patio. I’ve got lots of books to read and movies to watch and there’s my knitting as well (which I can do while I watch movies). I’m looking forward to the time off – my burnout rate at work seems to be a little higher than I’m used to, so I’m definitely going to make sure my batteries get recharged while I’m home this week.

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