To me that phrase right now tastes like chocolate and marshmallows put together. Both sticky and sweet, and it lingers in my mouth, my mind and soul.
Six weeks feels like the longest time, the biggest gift.
Six whole weeks: forty two days, one thousand and eight hours… just for me.
It’s a long story, but in short, as a result of my deciding to rock the boat and do my job regardless of the consequences, (read "Shoot the messenger"), the work I was schedule to do from mid-November until January has fallen through. There was a lot of debating about the ethics behind this decision. But the bottom line is that my relationship with the team is tainted, so we finally decided it was best, for the project, if someone else carried it forward.
Which brings us back to the six weeks. The six weeks at the end of the year that are all of a sudden empty. And it is hard for me to express in words the joy that these six weeks elicit in me.
I had promised myself to finish the book I’m working on. I had promised myself to stop procrastinating, to stop finding excuses. Good or bad, the book had to be finished by yearend but, until this happened, it was looking unlikely. Now I have six weeks (six weeks!) before the end of the year, during which my main task will be just that: Writing My Book. And it gives me so much pleasure to think of it, I am finding it hard to concentrate on the work I am meant to be doing right now.
I went freelance after my kids were born. I wanted to work, but couldn’t deal with the full office hours & being away from them all day thing. So I opted for a half way house: part-time work, mostly from home. But the uncertainties of being freelance, together with the fact that I love what I do, (and find it very hard to turn jobs down), means that I have actually been working full time for most of this year.
Now I have six weeks where I can spend the morning working on my book, and my afternoons lazily with my babies, planning birthday parties, preparing for Christmas, painting balloons or telling stories. I can waste the hours away with them. I can stop being in a hurry, or slipping away to “finish just one more thing” or “send one last email”.
Six weeks of bliss and heaven.
In my hectic mornings, while I struggle to get everyone dressed and out the door in time, I open the drawer. You know the one. It’s near the front door and collects all kinds of useless junk, bits of broken toys you’ll fix one day, and plain out trash.
“I will finally have time to go through this damn drawer”
My mind relishes in the thought, and feels just a little more zen at the mere thought of it.
I will have time sort out the clothes, and take out the pants that barely cover the calves so that I stop finding myself in the park with the kids wearing clothes two sizes too small. I will have time to bake cookies. I will have time to update my website. I will have time to actually file the ever growing pile on the “To File” tray.
Six weeks to edit the photos that have been growing old and dusty in the “to do” file.
Six weeks with no excuses to avoid the gym or yoga class.
Time, the biggest gift, and I’ve got SIX weeks.
I can’t wait.