We spend way too much time working. I came to that conclusion — not for the first time — while I was whittling away the hours last week on vacation. Sure, I was spending that vacation in the tourist hell of Branson, Mo., but still … vacationing in the hearland of country music is still better than sitting in a cubicle at the publishing company at which I work.
So here I am on Monday morning staring at my computer screen and the long, long list of unpleasant tasks scheduled for me this morning. Seems there’s a metting about something later in the day. I have several interviews with people I have little interest in speaking with. Then there are all the boring stories I have to get busy with so I’ll have them done before the month ends.
Yes, it’s pure joy here in workland.
I shouldn’t complain, I know. There are plently of unemployed writers who’d kill for my job, for any job, actually.
Still … I miss waking up and picking up my Branson guidebook. Will we hit the outrageously overpriced Wax Museum today? Will we tackle the hike in the national park? Maybe today’s the day we spend at the amusement park where the admission fee costs the equivalent of a mortgage payment?
(By the way, a note on that wax museum. There’s a Baywatch display. The David Hasselhoff dummy is so tan it looks like someone set it on fire.)
These decisons, though they may seem fairly unpleasant, are 10 times more intriguing than any choice I have before me today: Do I interview the owner of the Minneapolis moving company first or the career counselor who I blew off during my vacation? Choices, choices, choices …