There are the obvious, inevitable downsides to working only three days per week. And some times I think those downsides are bad enough that I should get a different job. The problem is, every time I think I should get a different job, I realize that I don't much want to work more than three days per week, and some other job would probably insist that I work more days than three. Some other job would probably want me to actually arrive at work on time, would probably be annoyed when I did things like pop out for a rehearsal in the middle of the day real fast, or leave early to go to some project, or meet a friend, or just because I want to get home to see my little Mr. C. So I stick. I do more week in three days than I used to do in four, and at the end of the third day, the upsides outweigh the downsides.
Last night I had a show, tonight I went to a friend's talk on architect Paul Rudolph, and I haven't seen Mr. C. for anything other than breakfast since Monday. I'm glad I'll get to see him for all the next four days. I have loads of project type work to do too, but I'm not too worried about that. Once everyone's out of the house and I get Charlie to myself, I feel like I can clear my head a little and start to get organized.
There are some fundamental changes that happen at the end of my work week.
I put my ear buds away.
I switch from my nice bag to my "rescue pack."
And my notebook gets covered in paint.
Those upsides are pretty sweet.
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