It’s been three weeks since I’ve started this thing called “full time employment”. Not to be a whiner, but it’s not at all what I was expecting.
Don’t get me wrong! I’ve worked full time. In fact, BC (Before Children) I worked in a fast paced, high stress office that often required me to put in 50+ hours a week. And before that position, I worked two jobs in order to make enough money to fund my trips to Vegas or my frequent dinners out. During that time, I worked 8-5 in an office and then 5:30-11:00 at a hotel taking reservations.
Hard work is not what’s throwing me. What’s sending me for a loop is the warp speed at which time is progressing. I anticipated feeling rushed. I expected to have less time. What I didn’t realise was the time off I do have being sand through my fingers.
Not to get all poetic and stuff.
I didn’t realise the difference between getting home at 5:30 in the evening to prepare to meet your friends at 7:00 and getting home at 5:00 and prepare your kids for bed at 7:30. All the things we like to do – bake, garden, craft – must be either crammed into the two hours between dinner and bed or done on the weekends.
Which wouldn’t be so bad.
If I had them every weekend.
So yes, we’re finding our way still. And yes, I’m having a tiny little pity party. Mostly because I’m wondering why I’m not independently wealthy and living off a trust fund while getting mani/pedis and shopping.
I could totally get used to that sort of lifestyle.
Anyone want to adopt me? I’ll make you jam.