Sunday bloody Sunday

Well, it’s Sunday night, and I’m in a crappy mood. Surprise, surprise.

Yeah, I know. No-one likes their weekends to end. They never seem to be long enough, and we often spend Sunday night cursing ourselves for not finishing what we set out to do (unless it involves “home improvements”, in which case our partners do the cursing for us). But I actually had a good weekend, and I’m not overly concerned it’s over.

No, what I’m grumpy about is that I have to go to work tomorrow. And right now my job feels like a complete waste of time. Or rather, a complete waste of my time.

Some of you are no doubt yelling “You’re lucky to have that job!” at your screens now, and I agree. I work in an air-conditioned office, out of the heat and the rain. It’s not a dangerous environment (as long as there’s coffee available). It pays well (in my mind, at least). And the hours are flexible, which means I can pick up my son early from day care when I need to.

The work itself isn’t bad either. Our organisation may not exactly be at the cutting edge (apologies for the buzzword), but we’re playing with some pretty advanced technology and techniques. It really is a techie’s paradise.

And that’s the problem. I’m not really a techie any more. Sure I love technology (how else can I justify spending so much on it?), but work-wise it no longer floats my boat. And so now work is just something I have to get through so I can do the stuff I really want to do.

Hardly the right attitude to get me through the week.

So tomorrow I’ll read my copy of Australian Writer’s Marketplace at lunchtime and see what potential markets I can find. It’s time to get serious about becoming a freelance writer.

Because I’m sick of feeling like this every Sunday.

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