Last weekend, Rhiannon had a friend in town (our first ever house guest) and we had a small housewarming-gathering cookout type of event to get a few other people to confirm the existence of the place we live. That, along with some cleaning of a car and yard work that apparently needs to be done every week and my weekend went pretty quick. I found myself sitting at work on Monday morning, a little tired and almost a little relieved that I could sit back at a desk and relax after a long weekend. Two hours into Monday morning, this feeling had abated and I was ready for another weekend. 9 am on Monday is not a good time of the week to start wishing for the weekend. It tends to make for a long week.
I’ve been busy and time has passed relatively quickly. Rhiannon and I are doing a little traveling and we have been discussing things we need to take with us and things we need to do before we go. This effort swung into full force on Wednesday night.
I will admit, Wednesday is a little early to be planning for a weekend for me. So, it isn’t any great mystery why my brain switched over to Thursday night. Unlike that movie, “Click”, I don’t control the speed of time. I got up the next morning thinking how nice it was that it was finally Friday and I was almost ready to start relaxing again. This thinking continued as I drove to work. Continued as I sat at my desk and started working. Continued as I ate breakfast. Because of the holiday next week, we needed to sign and turn over our timesheets earlier than normal, and I wasn’t until mid-morning when I finally realized I hadn’t signed mine yet.
Recently, my company has been making a big deal of getting timesheets in on time – apparently some people are pretty bad about doing so. I usually set up reminders when I need to do it early and I couldn’t figure out why none of them had popped up. And when I went to finish the sheet, I realized that not only did I not remember to sign it early, I forgot to fill out Thursday’s hours as well.
And then in the back of my mind, the little voice that had been repressed for over 12 hours began struggling out from under the multiple layers of denial that had been thrown over him. I looked at the date on my watch. I looked at the date on my phone. I looked at the calendar on the wall. I checked a news website.
I closed my eyes and looked at them all again. June 29th. Thursday. Very much Thursday without a hint of Friday-ness to it. And the lack of Friday on this day almost broke me. The little voice that was telling me it really was Thursday, that I had almost two full days left in the week instead of one, he may have been running through my head with a machete slashing all that dare get in his way. The weight of this realization was physically oppressive.
So maybe this morning when I got up, I looked at the date on the newspaper and checked a calendar with a little more enthusiasm than usual. Maybe I just barely resisted the temptation to go knock on a neighbor’s door and ask what day it was. Maybe, for just a second, I was scared out of my mind that I might be playing the part of Bill Murray in “Groundhog Day” - only instead of being stuck in Punxsutawney, PA, I was stuck one day away from the weekend. And maybe when I confirmed it really was Friday, I did one of those little jump-in-air heel clicks to show my elation to the world.
Maybe I did none of these things. The point is – it’s Friday. Really. I’m taking a little vacation next week. There may be posts, there may not (not that I’ve been real consistent this week – see what a busy weekend does to me?).
Enjoy your holiday. Hold onto your fingers and not fireworks.
Be happy it’s Friday. I never realized how good it was until I almost believed it was gone.