Working life is an experiment in itself. It's odd to say that I'm now part of the workforce, taking the train every day to an office where I sit for my 8 hours, do my work quietly, and go home. In exchange for my eight hours of time, I'm given money. Cause and effect, cause and effect.
It's a strange juxtaposition to where I was a year ago, doing work for a master's degree, or even a few months ago, where I was writing articles from home while desperately searching for some form of lucrative employment. And now here I am, finding my days taken up by the glorious repetition of wake up, run errands, go to work, come home, sleep, lather, rinse, and never stop lathering.
From having time infinitum to the time on my days off or the weekends. Is this adulthood? Because, if so, I object.
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