Three Day Weekend

A three day weekend is a chance to blog! It seems my free time has dwindled to nothing recently, which is OK for the most part, except right towards the end of my week, when I simultaneously want to sleep and have enough fun to reward me for my hard work in the last few days.

Why am I so busy? Two jobs, dear readers, will make one very busy indeed. I already mentioned the job at Davis Media Access. About a month after that I landed myself a part-time position doing grant admin work and other bits and bobs at the Community Alliance with Family Farmers. Both jobs are rewarding in completely different ways, and in both cases I’m learning genuinely useful stuff – for instance, last week I learned an awful lot about pomology. I’m also knocking myself into shape with some exercise.

My heaviest day is Thursday. I’m up at 7:30, on my bike by 8:30. By 9:00 I’ve normally cycled the five miles to CAFF. It’s a pleasant ride. I’ll record it on video sometime. I work at CAFF from 9am-2pm, then I cycle back to Davis for a 2:30 game of squash with my friend Tony. If my legs still work at 3:30pm I can get home, shower, change and bike to DMA by 4pm. I work there until 9pm, although I often don’t get out on time, and if I’m lucky Courtney has dinner waiting for me sometime around 9:30pm.

By doing this I get my 40 hours out of the way in four days, theoretically leaving me three days for fun and relaxation. However, Sundays are currently special project days at DMA, so most weeks I nip in there for four or five hours to get stuff done. Fridays are my Co-op volunteer work days, so that’s two hours on the meat counter, and I’ve started doing a radio programme from 3-4pm also on Fridays on the lovely, endangered KDRT 101.5FM. I’m going to try to make more time to keep my online life a little more up to date.

After much pressure from Eyelashjam I finally caved and joined Facebook. I’m now a little put out that he’s unresponsive to my request to be one of my boyfriends in an open relationship with a bunch of other lads and lasses. Maybe he was put off by my pseudonym. I concede that the idea of getting it on with a dead cabbage-headed Frenchman may be a little grim.