How was my Labor Day weekend? Why would you bring that up if not to be mean? Was there some good eating? Sure. Was the weather great? You betcha. Did I get cornered for over an hour listening to Bob tell me what a great dad, husband, employee, citizen, and human being he is?! I think you know the answer. Was it my son who accidentally broke the hosting family’s glass pitcher? Did I mention it was filled with ice tea? Or that it spilled all over their new carpet which they bragged about the second they opened the door? And this was the good day of the loooooooooooooonnnnnnnnnnngggggg weekend.
Look, I don’t like to complain. Well, actually, I do. But I’m not one of those people who think there’s a cosmic conspiracy against their happiness. Except for the fact that THERE IS! I don’t know who I ticked off out there, but I’m sorry. Okay? So, can I have my nice life back?
Of course, the misery of the weekend was my fault because, having learned nothing ever, I expected to have a fun, relaxed three days off. I mean, there were no kids’ sports. None. That never happens. No birthday parties I had to drive to, or worse, stay at. My wife seemed to be in a good mood. Neither kid seemed to mentally flip me the bird. It was all looking so good. That should have been my first clue. I won’t bore you with the details, but suffice it to say, at this moment, everyone I know hates me. But I don’t care. Because I am blissfully back to work. My sanctuary from the madness. The eye of my storm called life.
The new weekend is almost here. But I look past it like someone looking past a surgery they’re scheduled to get. Why dwell on the pain? I’m already looking forward to getting back to my desk, where I can collapse into my chair, tears of joy and relief rolling down my face, and I can say, “Thank god it’s Monday.”
Oh yeah. How was your weekend? Good for you.