My last weekend before the ten hour shifts start and it was all I could think about. Nine to five thirty at the Mad House and I’m exhausted at the end of each day, how on earth am I going to manage another two and a half hours? The thought of it coloured my day, as I went about the housework, making a shopping list, struggling up the Big Hill in the stormy morning, cooking meals for the week in the afternoon, all I could think about was the week ahead.
Today was Mini Commando’s twentieth birthday and my only contribution to the festivities was his favourite dinner (fish) and a birthday cake I bought in Sainsburys. It’s all very well having a job and money coming in but I don’t seem to have a life to go with it. I can’t help wondering if its worth it?