So…Here I am on Labor Day Weekend, working at my second job.  Fortified with a cup of cappacino made from a tin of instant with NON-dairy creamer, a cup of iced soda, and a bag of Chex-Mix, I’m ready to catalog the few items that need it this week prior to digging into the last of the inventory that I have been working on since the end of July.

It’s really not bad; I’ve got MSN for communication with my children, Live 365 for listening enjoyment, the place is air conditioned, and if I get too tired, I can clock myself out and take a nap before continuing on.  Such are the joys of flexible hours worked when no one else is around.  The world is locked out, and I have the telephone in case of a real emergency.

A friend messages me on MSN.  I note that I am at work, and that I am tired.  He commiserates.  I remark that in seven years I can retire.  “Ah, but will you?” he asks.

I think about that for a minute.  “From teaching, maybe.  I like my librarian job here at the college.  My writing is starting to take off.  Or maybe I’ll just teach part-time.”

Point of fact, when I’m not bone weary or confronted with a major mess-up, I rather like both my occupations.  Even the students who give me trouble know that I strive to be fair, that I try to instill information they can actually use and that I do expect them to attempt the assignment, even if they can’t do it correctly the first time.  Short, young people are as interesting to me as older, taller people; which is to say, I enjoy them in short doses, then want to be left alone to write, draw and niddle around with my music.

I enjoy cataloging; something I would never have believed back when I was taking the class.  I like being able to locate just the right book needed for the person asking for material.  Messing around with technology is enjoyable and frustrating by turns.

Music?  I’m not a musician.  I love it, though. There is something very special about creating melodic sound; whether it be singing or playing a musical instrument.  It connects something inside of me and makes me feel whole.

Bottom line:  I’m not fond of the long drive to my week-end job.  I’m more than a little fatigued by the sheer number of hours that it takes to accomplish what I do.  But I can’t think of anything I would rather be doing–except maybe writing, performing or painting.  Internet publishing is helping growth in that area.

I might wish for more cash at times (who doesn’t?), but the bills are getting paid; some things are even getting paid off.  I’m not secure enough in my skills to become complacent in any of these areas, but I am not unhappy.  I think the word I want is content.  I am content with what I do to earn a living.