They were everywhere. Big, fat shiny flying ants like something from an alien world. They appeared to enjoy getting tangled in my hair and spoilt our afternoon trip to the beach in the same way that my working for four hours, ruined the morning.
Why do I do it? Why don’t I just tell people that I am on holiday and it will have to wait until next week? It’s because:
- I always think I am about to be fired.
- I doubt my abilities.
- I fear that nobody else will want to pay me to work for them.
- I am a masochist.
- My parents never took holidays when we were growing up, so I learned by example.
- I think that earning money has to be impossibly hard.
- I am a fool.
- I’m a workaholic.
- I fear that if I relax I will never want to work again.
Anyway, I am going to work less hours tomorrow – I was aiming for zero, but well, something came up.
I am going to mull over the above points and hopefully convince myself that every single one of them is ridiculous.
Sorry, gone to the beach.