Weekend

Full time freelance writing often means that one day runs into another into another into another. Instead of “work days” and “weekends” I simply have days. At least, that’s my approach. I realize some writers compartmentalize (on x days I must write x many pages in x many hours), but I tend to go with the flow (well, to the extent that I can while working within the bounds of my assignment deadlines). This often means I might be grocery shopping on Monday morning, but then working late Friday night (or Saturday or Sunday).

Personally, I love this lifestyle. If children are in my future, I realize it’s limited. But for now, it is what it is. Last week I wrote like crazy, putting in long hours on emotional topics (illness, life, death). By Friday afternoon I was wiped out. And I was in the mood for a good old fashioned “weekend.” I picked up my husband from work and we drove to the Chesapeake Bay where we shared a meal and then wandered through the opening reception of an art gallery. Saturday was girls’ night, and I chatted with a woman who just adopted a baby from Guatemala. After church on Sunday, Ron and I snuggled on the couch and watched a movie. Tonight we grilled kabobs.

Here’s the best part: the weekend is winding down and I feel peaceful. I used to get anxious and depressed on Sundays knowing I’d have to spend the next five days wading through the duties of litigation. In fact, it was about three years ago this month when I was wavering between deciding whether to continue down the career path I’d started or switching to a career I wanted. I was paralyzed with indecision. Looking back, I can’t believe I waited so long to do what I’d always wanted to do.