Today is Monday in most places but not where I live.
About four days into my recent unemployment something happened. I lost track of what day it was and suddenly my world defaulted to Saturday, our perennial American favorite.
All through my working adult life I have adored Saturdays and felt glum on Sundays. I suppose it’s because I knew Monday was coming and I hadn’t finished my homework and would have to take a bath and go to bed early. That sort of thing stays with you as long as you’re on the rat track. Even when I worked weekends and had, let’s say Wednesday and Thursday off, I would get that special little thrill of anticipation in each Friday and feel a growing, depression on Sundays. It’s a psychological habit, I guess and I may never kick it.
Now I begin each morning before daybreak at my computer with a thermos of coffee and our little dogs snoring happily at my feet. As daylight grows I begin to think of all the ways I can be productive and happy today. I think of the things I no longer have to do.
In SaturdayVille nobody seems to be in a general hurry without good reason. Stress is a word applied to the poor working stiffs. Clocks are mostly meaningless.
I know I’ll go back to work eventually and I’ll be happy about it. For now, though, a long break from the demands and routines of Sunday through Friday is delightful. Carolann and I may take a long trip in our motor home. Maybe I’ll finish my book. Maybe I’ll just take a nap and then watch some TV.
Life in SaturdayVille is idyllic. I think you’d like it.
Congratulations to the new Mister Saturday. I would add only one thing to your idyllic pre-holiday holiday. Fudge for breakfast.
Hmmm, early retirement? Sounds like something I could appreciate. Enjoy the time. Hit the road and write. Have fun!
First of all, with your resume, pipes and talent — that next great gig is just around the corner. Second – your Saturday column reminded me of the time I was “let go” from a job I’d had for 20+years. Not that I was so much surprised by the move – but a bit puzzled as to why they cut me loose on a Monday.
As I drove home that morning, looking into the rear view mirror and realizing that the stretch of highway I was riding on (and had been for decades) would never, really feel quite the same, I also wondered, though not too long, why they asked for my key on a Monday and not the ususal … end of work-week Friday. Initially, I was kind of puzzled. Then, trying to find a bright spot … I muttered to myself: “Well, at least they didn’t screw up last weekend.”
Maybe Monday WAS a better deal.
In conclusion — I’m recalling the words of one of my favorite all time talk show hosts, Jim Eason, who spent decades on bay area giants KGO and KSFO. The day Jim announced his retirement – he said quietly and in his unique one-on-one delivery: “You know – after all these years, I’m not really sad or semi-depressed. Ya’ see – if you manage to retire fairly comfortably, and I will be, … then every day is like Saturday morning. Thanks for listening. The news is next.
Kinda’ sound like a song Kenny Loggins shoulda’ written.
Good luck, buddy.
I can relate to part of this… Firstly, I’ve always felt the same way: Saturdays were wonderful and Sundays grim because of the prospect of homework on which I had procrastinated, the impending schoolday (though I liked school very much), or as I got older, having to go to work the next day. But now that my new job does have me off on Wednesdays and Thursdays, I don’t find that funk on Sundays. Oddly, I don’t find it on Thursdays either because truthfully, for the most part, I’ve lost track of days of the week. It’s a funny thing but when your weekly days off are consistantly out of sync with the rest of the world, days off have little meaning. It’s especially compounded when you start work at 3pm and don’t get home until after midnight. Time is all but meaningless.
However the one day that does give me the blues is Friday. Coupled with my hours it never fails to escape my mind that as I’m trudging to work after two days off, the majority of people have begun their weekends. It’s sad, really, but there it is. Of course, I get a bit of my own back when I’m signing off on Tuesday nights knowing the rest of society is just beginning their week. It’s a cyclic sort of masochism.
But my work schedule has it’s perks: I can accomplish errands during the day (if my wife is reading this, please note I just said I CAN accomplish errands, not that I DO) and I get to make breakfast for my son and take him to school, none of which was possible when I started my day early. Of course, Saturdays and Sundays are great because I get to be with my wife too and I don’t have the added doom of not knowing if my son is going to run eagerly to his teacher and friends or clutch me in a death grip screaming, “Daddy, don’t leave me!”
I guess I can look forward to something every day. Which I guess is really the point to this whole thing, no?