Yet again, by the end of the working week, my overriding feeling is despair. I can't seem to get anything right. That's not entirely true - I do, occasionally succeed - but seldom.
For many reasons, I expect to be working, full-time, until I'm 65, possibly 66. If I don't, there will be serious financial consequences. But, day after day, I want, desperately, to be able to call it a day (or, at the very least, to reduce my hours).
Thankfully, I've made it through to another weekend / I can down tools / lay aside one set of challenges / and give some attention to another / until the pendulum swings back / and Monday beckons, again ...
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