On Saturdays, Sundays, on Christmas Day, on my Birthday, I get up and I do my thing. Such constant pressure and consistent attempts to drive forward inevitably cause problems. I get tired. I consider quitting. I wish I hadn’t committed. Then the next day comes and I do it again.
If I had days off, I’m sure the quality of the work I do would be less erratic. But that’s not how I’m wired. I cannot dip in and out, doing two or three or four days a week. It doesn’t work for me. It’s all-in, everyday, or nothing. Which means that I must make peace with the fact that, if I refuse to take days off, there will be off-days.