So, after 15 years of dedicated service, I left work six weeks ago and am now enjoying being a lady of leisure. Whilst I was miserably serving my full, four months, notice, there was excited talk about my taking on bits and pieces of work ad hoc to bring in a little extra dosh. However, the longer I have spent at home the less inclined I am to start looking, and, if I’m truthful, am hoping that nothing turns up.
I am in the very happy and fortunate position that my not working does not mean destitution. My husband is a high earner, kids are independent, and we’ve paid off our mortgage. My income was generally being saved for our retirement and treats, such as expensive holidays to far flung and exotic places. So some income for me would be nice, but not necessarily essential.
So far, I’ve managed to keep myself busy all day, every day. People have asked ‘don’t you get bored?’ No. I don’t. I am filling my days with homely, housewifey things. Things only previously done cursorily at weekends. For instance, this morning, I cleaned the windows…vigourously and actually enjoyed it. I’ve baked bread -without the machine. I no longer have outstanding ironing, and the dog is enjoying lots more exercise and attention. I’ve been digging over the garden ready for vegetables next year, and of course, I am writing.
I feel great. I have energy and enthusiasm once more. No longer dragged down into depression by the stress and responsibilities of work, I can be silly again. I have found my lost self. I was switched off, now I am switched on again.