Three hours of my day belongs to the commute and I have none left
Posted as ninety_each_way
- Looking for
- somebody with real weekends and a tolerance for a typed week
- Experience
- Nine years, two long dynamics, one of them entirely at weekends.
- Around
- the 905, Toronto
Three hours of my day belongs to the commute. Ninety minutes in, ninety minutes back, five days a week, and by the time I am home I have the personality of a damp towel.
Thirty eight, the 905, switch, nine years in. This is the whole obstacle and I have stopped pretending it can be solved with enthusiasm. A weeknight in the city is not possible for me. It is not that it is hard. It is that it would mean getting home at one in the morning before a six o'clock alarm, and I did that for a year and it made me ill.
What I can do: weekends, properly, with time in them. Whole Saturdays. Occasionally a Friday evening through to a Sunday. And I can be very present in between by message, because I have three hours a day sitting still with nothing else to do.
So the person who suits me has real weekends and a tolerance for a partner whose weekdays are mostly typed. It is a strange rhythm. Two people have loved it. Two people found it lonely by month three and I do not blame either of them.
I switch genuinely, and my preference moves with how much I have had to be in charge at work. Bad weeks make me want to hand everything over. Quiet weeks make me want to run something. Not looking for anybody who suggests I move closer in. Not looking for weeknight anything. Not looking for a person who reads a typed week as low effort.