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Instantly, it's over. The weekend. Granted, most of the working world lives like this. On five, off two. I sympathise. A pile of years gone by, on the three-day, 36 hour trip. Migrating to where the job is, having to sleep somewhere else than my own bed. I'm sure a lot of my problems at home stem from this, but this is how it is. "Man make money... woman stay home." The ideal fifties dream. Not mine. Should have been done with this years ago. Wanted to. Repeat above quotations. Pity I'm no rocket scientist. Cue the start of the week. Repeat marathon days, follow with a day in DC, courtesy of Slick Willie. How his marriage has survived his constant solo vacations is a mystery... but maybe not. He gets over, she knows. He buys something nice, takes her to dinner, they go somewhere different. All's forgiven. A marriage of convenience. A thing I abhor, but seem to exist in. You get what you deserve, I suppose. So, I'll pack the camera. Check out the Folklife on the Mall. More than likely, get lit up like a Christmas tree, somewhere along the way. Better than drinking alone. Enough. Six hours of tackling the yard has me punchy, sunburned, and maudlin. The single beer had no effect. I don't mind the sunburned part, though I feel every weave of this fabric, every stitch. The maudlin part has to go. Maybe the story will be different when I sit here, next weekend. |
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