Fridays are the worse. Worse than Mondays. I feel like I have to claw my way out of a sunken grave, kicking against moving ground, until my shoes and elbows are muddy and I've finally reached the beer that is waiting for me on the green grass.
Well, that may be a little dramatic, but you get the point.
I worked late Friday and had to go in for a planned shift on Sunday. So, around dusk on Saturday I started to panic, because, well my weekend was already over.
"We didn't do anything, I didn't accomplish anything," is what I said.
"Its the weekend, that's the point," is what he said.
Still, I felt I needed to do something, or at least take pictures and look like I did something.
So Lilly and I took a walk.
It was simple and it was satisfying and it was enough to salvage my very short weekend (day).
On Sunday, I spent the day with the residents and kept thinking, "Where were you 10 years ago?" but most of them couldn't really remember anyways, so I guess it didn't matter.
I listened to the past on the radio and curled up at my desk because that was as good as it was going to get.
I passed the day making colorful bulletin boards and skipped out a little bit early.
You could say I rallied a bit.
By savoring K's homemade chili with lots of Ritz crackers and cast-iron skillet cornbread.
And since we rallied so well on Sunday (hey, someone had to, right? ........), we continued on Monday with a driving range date.
It worked because I didn't know what day it was. The days get mushed together when you don't have much of a weekend.
I still don't know. It feels like Wednesday. But, I'm off tomorrow so I'll get a mini weekend again.
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