This afternoon, after visiting with some friends’ new dog and having a smoke, I walked down to Volunteer Park with Andreas and Yeshua. Half-way there, my phone rang; it was my creative agency.

You see, I don’t actually work for The Paper — I work for an agency that contracts me to them. My agent was calling to report that my timesheet was overdue.

I told him about how now that I’m working Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, I get lazy and don’t fax in my timesheet until Tuesday…then I launched into a good long ramble about how the work situation was perfect. I work just over a mile away and walk home; I work just enough hours to make decent money, but still have 4 day weekends; I genuinely like my coworkers; the tasks are easy for me, and I’m good at what I do.

My manager isn’t really able to commit to how long she wants me there, but my former experiences suggest that contracts can stretch on quite long. I told my agent, “I’m just going to keep showing up until they tell me to go away.” I was probably a little too enthusiastic on the phone (”The schedule is HEAVEN, Brien. My dream scenario!”), overly effusive, and spewing too much effluvia, but seriously: it’s ideal for me. I’m a hard, fast worker. I save the client (ie, The Paper) money by working quickly and efficiently when I’m there (er, usually), and then being not being there Monday and Friday.

I think my French friends have it down: work 30-35 hour work weeks, and take frequent 3-day weekends through the summer season. Realistically, your average American worker doesn’t actually DO more than 30 hours a week of honest-to-God work, anyway. Most of us just accept payment in exchange for face time. It feels overwhelmingly, dizzyingly delightful to be working the perfect number of hours for me.

Fingers crossed that I can make it last for a few more months! Like I said, I’ll just keep showing up until they ask me to go away.