one last hurrah

Tomorrow, September 1st, marks the end of the salad days for yours truly-- the final day of our center's intensive summer schedule. For the past few weeks, my work schedule has been chock full as the summer session at YB has been winding down. For most of the year, I almost never have the chance to work full, 40-hour weeks there, and next week we'll be back to a maximum of 32 weekly work hours (six hours Monday through Thursday, eight hours on Saturday). My paycheck on September 7 is going to be nicely bloated; I'll likely use some of that money to replace two balding car tires and pay back part of a personal loan.

Ah, money. In my callow youth, I used to think money didn't matter. These days, however, I know that money represents freedom: it provides the means to act according to one's will. While I still have no desire to be filthy rich, I know that money equates to breathing room, and for the past four years, I've been living in a corset.


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