I used to love weekends. I actively looked forward to them.
Every Friday afternoon, when I was off for Saturday and Sunday, that magical moment, when the clock hit half past the hour, I’d be out the door and finally the weekend could start.
There’d be plans, time to do things, lie-ins, fun, sunshine and fun of the highest order.
There was never enough hours to cram all the activities and joy in.
Now, it’s all changed.
A weekend is full of hassles now. It has been for sometime.
Dealing with others shit, sorting things out all over the place, always while waiting for the surprise of an issue or two cropping up, which I have not been a party to, or enjoyed because of.
Trouble parking, humping shit around, trying to sort out stuff, etc.
Time is simply not my own anymore. I hate it.
When people come bouncing into work on Monday morning, full of the joys of spring, “Had a good weekend?” they always ask.
The usual reply is, “Yeh okays, you?”
The more honest reply would be, “Sorted out this, that and the other, most of which had nothing to do with me at all and I didn’t get a minutes piece!”
FFS doesn’t do it justice.