I’m bored. It’s official. I am apparently incapable of being on my own for more than four days without having some kind of organised activity. How pathetic is that? It hasn’t been this way for long – less than a year ago the very idea of starting a non-freelance nine-to-five kind of job filled me with horror. I loved my freedom, and used it mercilessly. Perhaps it’s been too long since I had a holiday. I have a week and a half left and I can’t think of anything to do with it.
This was brought home to me today by a visit to the office. I had to go in because I thought there was a bill that I had left at work which needed to be paid. Everyone looked at me with mute astonishment as I walked into the room, and in short order I found myself discussing work-related matters with my boss over a pub lunch.
Twenty minutes later and I’m sitting in an internet café thinking how bizarre it is to find myself in this situation, and beginning to get a sense in my head of why my step-father spent such a long time at the office, and why people with stressful jobs feel obselete when they retire…