On a rainy Saturday at the laundromat, I realized: the weekdays and weekends of a freelancer have already melted away.

It's 3:00 PM on a Saturday, and I'm at the local laundromat.

Because of the rain, I couldn't keep up with drying my laundry indoors, so I walked five minutes with my laundry in my arms. I tossed it into the dryer, put in 200 yen, and set it for 20 minutes. With nothing to do, I stare blankly at the laundry spinning behind the glass.

Outside, it's a damp, gray sky typical of the rainy season. Someone who came in with their umbrella folded started the machine next to mine and left immediately. I'm the only one in the shop. The dryer drum spins with a steady rhythm.

Watching it, I suddenly thought of something.

Until just now, I hadn't even realized that today was Saturday.

I had stopped checking what day of the week it was.

When I was a company employee, Saturday afternoons meant something. There was the margin of 'tomorrow is also a day off' and the run-up of 'the blues will come on Sunday night.' Days of the week were properly attached to emotions.

During my days as an SIer, weekends were much clearer. I'd drink more on Friday nights, sleep until noon on Saturday, and feel a heaviness in my stomach by Sunday evening. I genuinely hated the time when Sazae-san aired. There was a thick line drawn between working days and days off. I thought that was the norm.

It's been two years since I became a freelancer. Before I knew it, that line had disappeared.

This morning, I was halfway through working on materials for a client. Even though it's Saturday. No one asked me to. I just want to make some room for Monday, so I'm getting a head start on a free Saturday. I'm making that decision without any resistance anymore.

Conversely, I might be out for a two-hour walk on a Tuesday afternoon. Weekdays and weekends have melted together perfectly.

It wasn't impatience, nor was it loneliness.

If I wrote here that 'freelancers can't take breaks after all' or 'it's lonely,' it would probably make for a neat article.

But in reality, I didn't have those feelings.

What I felt while watching the dryer wasn't impatience or loneliness, but just a sense of 'this is a fact.' In the same tone as saying the temperature is 20 degrees today, I thought, 'Ah, I'm already living outside the days of the week.'

I found myself not thinking of the disappearance of that line as either a loss or a gain.

Compared to my time as an SIer, there are certainly things I've lost. The 'forced time off' that that thick line created is gone. No one tells me to 'take a break today.' So, if I don't draw the line myself, I could end up keeping my documents open forever.

But I've also gained things. The freedom to take a walk on a Tuesday afternoon was something I obtained because that line disappeared. This stretched-out time, where I can spend 20 minutes blankly at a laundromat on a rainy Saturday, is probably the same. Because I lost the line, this kind of time is being created.

In short, I think I just made a trade. I let go of the time divisions that the company managed for me, and I took on the responsibility of dividing my own time. That's all.

The dryer stopped, and I stood up.

Twenty minutes passed, and the buzzer rang.

As I folded the warm laundry, it occurred to me that, naturally, the laundry from a weekday and the laundry from a weekend looked exactly the same. There is no way to tell them apart. My days, I suppose, have become just like that.

Whether the disappearance of that line is a good thing or a bad thing is, in the end, up to me. If left unchecked, freedom is endlessly eroded by work. That is why I have recently been intentionally creating 'Saturday afternoons where I do nothing.' Today's trip to the laundromat was, in part, an experiment in that.

Just as I took the long way home from the office, I am currently practicing 'redrawing those lines' with my own hands. I cannot say I have gotten good at it yet.

I gathered the folded laundry and walked home through the rain. The world outside was gray as ever, but it was not a bad Saturday. That is all.

If there is anyone else who feels that the days they work and the days they rest are melting together, I suspect my story will resonate with you. I will be writing more of these soliloquies over a beer, so please follow me if you would like to read more.