The Four-Day Schedule

If you had a choice between a “standard” work schedule (i.e., Monday through Friday for 8 hours each day) and a “shortened” schedule (i.e., Monday through Thursday for 10 hours each day), which would you choose?

At first, the shortened schedule looks like it would be great. After all, you do get Friday off, so you can get used to having long, luxurious three-day weekends. I personally don’t think I would do it, simply because cramming 10 hours of work into a single day would be painful mentally and physically, especially for four days in a row. My job involves thinking and basically being inside my own head all day long, as well as sitting in front of a computer screen, so I’d overthink myself into panic mode and strain my eyes. Other jobs might lend themselves better to 10-hour stretches.

To me, the main problem with the standard work schedule is that it can get tiring going into work five days in a row, especially if you commute every day. My solution to this would be not to have a day off on Friday but to have a day off on Wednesday, so your 10-hour workdays would be broken into more “bite-size” periods. Another solution would be to work remotely on Wednesday if possible so you can avoid the commute and use the time that’s normally spent driving for more worthwhile things, like cleaning or cooking (or maybe even working on a hobby if you’re very lucky).

What do you think? Would you work on a 4-day schedule if you could?

Beware the Ads on Tumblr

Tumblr has been one of my favorite social media sites (well, practically the only one I’m on) since its inception, although lately I’ve been tempted to kick it to the curb because 90% of its content is beginning to be offensive to me and because you can’t do an innocent image search without running into very risqué stuff. Since Tumblr was bought by Yahoo! a few years back, it’s only gotten worse, and so have the ads. Like this one:*


At first, I thought the object in the little speech-bubble heart was a wedding band, but then I lowered my mind to the gutter, looked more closely, actually read the text of the ad, and realized that the object is in fact a condom. I began to get angry, but I realized I was on Tumblr and this ad is probably the least of all the things on there I could get angry about.

The picture says, to put it simply, If you love me, use a condom or I will prove my love for you by using a condom. I could imagine how using a condom could be seen as a caring gesture because you’re looking out for a lover’s well-being, but it is upsetting that it has to be that way,** that the types of things condoms guard against are so prevalent, and that a condom is not 100% effective in doing its job.

To answer the question in the ad, yes, sex is risky. A condom can guard a certain part of one’s body and may even provide temporary peace of mind, but it cannot guard one’s heart. I know that a discussion about protecting emotions is not what the ad intends to start, but the heart above the two guys’ heads reminds the person viewing the ad that heavy emotions are involved. What I’m getting at is that the heart should be removed from the ad. Perhaps the two guys should each be holding onto the condom instead of each others’ hands, and maybe the speech bubble should be shaped normally, with actual words (that don’t pertain to love) inside it. To me, putting a condom inside of a heart is putting a Band-Aid over a stab wound.

*Yes, I realize that I’m perpetuating the ad by posting it here, but who the heck reads this stuff anyway?🙂

**Well, it certainly doesn’t have to be that way, but that’s the subject of many other posts and PSAs that mostly end up preaching to the choir.

Poetry Time: Conversion

This was written yesterday in a Starbucks, so I apologize if it stinks of rough-draft mediocrity and tall-mocha-venti-frappe-lattes. (I don’t know how to order at Starbucks.)

i press my face into the earth,
i breathe the grime of sin into my nostrils,
and realize this is not about me
but the one who created the earth,
the one whose human likeness
i pushed aside and kicked and hit and gouged
in favor of idols that do not compare.

my soul a bonfire, my mouth unable
to open for emotion.
i am not the strong, tower-like woman
modernity wants me to be.
i am weak. frailty is my name.
i am dust, created from the rib
of a man equally weak and equally flawed.

i turn my heart
to the only flawless man:
his divinity walked the earth,
his humility hangs my head,
drags my hair on the floor,
multiplies questions in my mind.
how do i, how do i

care for the least of these
and not get too attached?
understand nothing and control nothing?
wait for my past to go blind
in the glare of his light
and not fly toward darkness
where all is discomfort and nothing is safe?

i turn my wrist
for him to lift
and release my fingers
from around my failings.
heartbroken, i crawl into brilliance,
breathe truth into my lungs,
and attempt to remove the thorn.