For two weeks now, I was the last to leave work on a Friday night, walking out past nine. It is not because I am a workaholic – far from it – but because there is no one waiting for me, and there is nothing to look forward to. I remember how, in 2013, I worked hard and was pretty efficient in my work, all because I wanted to spend quality time with the boy uninterrupted by having to mark scripts. Now, there’s nothing to look forward to, so I work slowly, and I work late, because the alternative is going home to stare at the ceiling, look at old photographs of us, and/or indulge in the mindless calories that is alcohol (I do have some decent cocktail/highball recipes now though).
What’s the point of striving for productivity and efficiency when I don’t know what to do with the time saved?