I had figured that going back to a day job would be like letting a rhino trample through a garden. Something pretty gets destroyed and my mom ends up in tears. Having a set time that I have to be awake on a regular basis would end up destroying any sense of sanity that I might have previously claimed ownership of. Turns out, though, I’m kind of rocking it. I love having a schedule. Maybe it’s just a new car smell type of situation and eventually I’ll start to resent any time of day that doesn’t end in “PM,” but for the moment I’m thriving on it. Shit is getting done on a regular basis.
Being unemployed for the millennia that I was, I forgot how satisfying life maintenance can be. I’m pretty good at gathering wood and carrying water -- maybe I’m just addicted to minor accomplishment. While this ranks only slightly higher than “proper pooping protocol” on the hierarchy of adulthood, I’m still going to milk the feeling for all it’s worth.
Reading this over, it kind of sounds like a recidivist’s essay to a parole board but I will own this. Diet wise, I’m still on food rations which is not very great, but could be way worse. I don’t eat as much as I should, but when I do eat, it’s pretty much to the letter acceptable foodstuffs.
My next goal is to see if I can maintain this, and actually shrink, to some degree.
Last night, I ironed clothes. I’ve never ironed anything before, ever. Life skill: acquired. Magus Wife had to show me how to do it, and then checked my work. I appreciate how this situation could be considered condescending, but considering that there was a non-zero chance of me starting a fire with water, it was appreciated. And can see why people do it now: I look good, real good.