Friday’s sometimes go by in a flash or creep along with a snail’s pace. That can be ok. But sometimes it’s jarring. I know how I’ll feel on a Sunday pretty much down to a T. This is not to say Sunday’s can’t be fun or hold surprises, but in the end that all washes away to reveal an anxious desperation as I realize the weekend slips away and I will have to go back to work.
I don’t love knowing that my weekend is only another point of focus for me in the sense that I’ll focus on how finite it is in compared to everything else. I’m forever grateful to even have the same two days off from work, but the consistency of my schedule and days off has turned into less of a relaxation from the workweek and more into a “this is an extension of the week known as Fun Time: a product of work week LLC.”
I am lucky to have work and support in these disastrous times, but at that same time the reality that I either work and survive or don’t work and (rather quickly) fall into poverty and desperation means it doesn’t really interest me in the way I want it to. Yes jobs need doing but it would be nice knowing I won’t die if I don’t do it. You know?
You might feel differently. And don’t take this the wrong way, but I wouldn’t care. I would mind that you appreciate the monotony of work mixed with the ever-pressing fear of homelessness based on how much money you’re worth. I would care because in the end you can’t value the thing that supposedly gives you value more than yourself. Everything that you did to contribute to your self worth came from you, not the object/action.
We’re worth more than a number.
Love you sister, dad, mom, Marie, Amelia, kitty