I'm addicted to days off. I'm hooked on free time. I can't get enough early outs. Fantasies about waking up without an alarm clock are not uncommon.

I'm involved in a primitive bartering system with my job. They offer a price for my free-time and, barring an impending rent payment, I politely decline. My days off are for sale, but they ain't cheap.

Recently I've been spending days in the sunshine with people who make me laugh. Whole days spent lying in the grass with good company. And I can't get enough. Going to work is getting increasingly difficult. While I'm there I can't stop thinking about my next fix. Just six more hours and then a day off.  

Though my lifestyle is not without its drawbacks. I have water with my meals, buy the cheap toilet paper, and none of my books are hardback. I buy the generic cereal and buy my jeans off the clearance rack. I buy my records used, and think leftovers are heaven sent. My apartment is smaller than a hotel room. I feel like a king when I take a cab. Small prices to pay for freedom.

Work 'til you're in the black and not a second longer.  Don't give up your days for your bank account's sake. Lay in the sun with a book and a Coke; tell your boss she'd better make it worth your while to give it up.

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