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3-Day Weekend


It was a good day. I got new running shoes so I don’t break my feet before August, we went to Amelia’s callback, and we set up times for an audition and photo shoot. It is still weird to me, but any nest egg for her college, or life, is enough. We got home, I jogged, & Marie went to dance rehearsal. Amelia & I chilled—we watched The Simpsons, ate a nice dinner, she bathed & I cleaned, (always cleaning something or someone), then we chilled until Marie got home.

I don’t have work tomorrow, which means my weekend continues. Marie & Amelia both have school, but I get to stay home & play video games, & watch more yellow buffoons, probably. It is unfamiliar to me now to have a 3-day weekend. My Saturday elation had turned into Sunday disbelief. “I have another day?” I ask. “More time?” I mutter.

How will the Sunday blues drain onto my Monday? I have to get my car checked, yes, but does the creep of time alter based on our existence within/around it?

What is a Monday off but the brisk silence of a winter morning? It’s a departure—one where your lover leaves before you & the crushing emptiness expands, opens for a moment, letting you breathe in a day of opportunities, yes blissfully allowing you sleep. Take the quiet—only enough for yourself—and keep it safe with you.

I love you Mom, Dad, Amelia, Marie, Sis, Alexander



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