I've Licked Blood

 

A little over a year ago, at the beginning of May 2024, I switched to a 4-day-work-week, signing a side-agreement that I would do so for two years for now. Well, now that I have reached half-time of this "experiment" I already know that I have licked blood and cannot imagine ever going back to working Fridays. I work a minimum of 9 hours now (having elected the 36-hrs-option) Monday to Thursday and officially start an hour earlier than I used to, but having 3-day-weekends EVERY weekend is bliss. You can get so much more done, do spontaneous weekend trips that start on Friday morning and even if you just want to do nothing much and chill at home, there's more time for that. My productivity definitely has not suffered and I can count the occasions on one hand when somebody had wanted to include me in a meeting or event on a Friday, so I definitely picked the right day of the week off. In other workds: wishing colleagues a good weekend on a Thursday afternoon already just "hits different".

It Comes With Age...

I am writing this from my parents' where Highflyer and I have spent the long weekend "sitting" dad while Mum got to spend a little much-needed me-time in Vienna. As usual, there were several garden-chores waiting for us. Apparently, I have inherited the "green thumb"- gene from the paternal side of the family, whereas mum does what she is told, but it is not her hobby, nor passion. When I was younger, I found the "garden talk" of my paternal grandmother, aunt and dad incredibly boring and in particularly could not understand how these women in particular (just as my maternal great-aunts) seemed slaves to their gardens, basically not able to (or claiming that this was the case anyway) leave the house overnight in summer for fear of thunderstorms that might wreak havoc in their well-kept green paradise. While I am definitely team "anarchic gardener" and won't spill tears if some plant does not survive while we are away on summer vacation, I do enjoy gardening and am thrilled when something (edible in particular) grows. Highflyer, like my mother, is happy enough when somebody else takes care of planting stuff that he can then enjoy and sticks to moving the lawn and other traditionally manly chores. Fine with me.