A recent change in my responsibilities at work means that Friday is now the busiest day of my week. I think that this is probably a good thing. If I’m going to have an empty afternoon stretching out in front of me, when I sit idly refreshing my inbox and rss feeds in hope of distraction, I’d rather it wasn’t the afternoon immediately before the weekend begins. This way, Friday flies by.
Mondays, as you can see, are a little more relaxed…
I’ve always had a somewhat different perception of time, and while I’m all too fond of days spent doing nothing but pottering, musing and lazing, when it comes to sitting in an office under flourescent lighting, breathing conditioned air, next to wittering colleagues, I’d rather have something that distracts me from my situation and fills my hours.
Not that being busy is only a way to kill time. I remember my years at university being enjoyably full. Not, of course, with study or evenings researching in the library. Heaven forbid (I was a literature student, after all). But I was kept occupied with the student TV station for which I was constantly filming or editing something or other, as well as being its secretary and newsletter editor (which, in reality, meant that I wrote the whole thing myself). Add to this the occasional essay, written in a few frantic hours the evening before the deadline, plus an embryonic social life, and I found that the days were so packed that I often barely had time to remember to call my mother (*cough*).