Childish and even ridiculous pleasures also define Reb MacRath.
Let me tell you why I'm smiling now.
On my week off from my main job, I'd been scheduled to work crazy hours at my part-time gig: 10 hours on Black Friday and 8 more today, starting at 6:45 a.m. Both days had been 'locked', meaning that I couldn't trade or give up the hours. Calling out might have meant getting fired. Apparently, I had no way around the loss of all that writing time.
For some reason, my instinct told me to check on Thursday morning. To my surprise, the days no longer showed as locked. I 'advertised' my Saturday shift, not hopeful of anyone jumping at the chance to start work at dawn. But, Friday morning, when I checked, I saw that someone had.
So I get to play Hookey today without hurting anyone. The store won't be affected. And someone who needed the money enough to start work at that hour struck gold. Best of all, though I do lose the money, I remember the childish thrill, years ago, of taking off from school.
What will I do with my day? I began with a cab ride to my favorite Starbucks at 6 a.m. to ensure I got the one table with an electrical outlet. And here I'm enjoying the delinquent delight of rewriting the new Boss MacTavin novel. Around noon, I'll mosey on down to the library to take care of other business. But--hey, this is Hookey day--I'll also take a walk, maybe go to a film, stop to smell a few frostbitten roses--or whatever's in bloom at this time of the year. I'll read. I'll do more roadwork on Action Manifesting. (A day job interviewing's scheduled for Tuesday!) And at home this party animal will do 800 crunches, then savor his favorite oatmeal and watch some Prison Break.
Though films aren't made about days such as this, I'm here to tell you, bubbas: I've got to play Hookey more often in the upfront way I've done. As the kids say these days: