A couple of weeks ago, I fantasized about someday having a Saturday off from work.
"When I get a Saturday off, sometime in the distant future," I said dreamily, imagining a cold weekend in early March, "I'm going to go to my coffee shop--the one I used to frequent--and write. Then I'm going to practice George for about four hours, taking breaks every now and then to change out the clothes (there are always clothes to wash). Then I'm going to go on a glorious run around the lakes."
"Sounds like a good day," said the Hubster. "Do you think that will ever happen?"
"Yes." I sighed. "But not until late February, at the earliest. Until then, we're on the six-day-a-week, 10-hours-a-day schedule."
Imagine my delight on Thursday when the boss told us the 10-hour Saturdays had been cut back to four-hour Saturdays.
Imagine my delight on Thursday when this most wonderful boss told us that only a handful of us needed to work this Saturday (today) ... a handful that did not include me!
Folks, this is my first Saturday off since mid-October.
I am at my coffee shop now. I've been writing up a storm, and I'm getting ready to head home for some serious quality time with George. I have about four loads of clothes to wash, so I'll get them done as I practice. Then I'll go for a glorious five-miler this afternoon.
Work will still be a busy, six-day-a-week thing for a while more. But it sure is nice to have an unexpected free day.