This weekend went too fast, but every weekend does lately. Something for which I’m grateful for. I remember when weekends crawled by and they hurt more than weekdays because of the unwritten and unwanted expectation that just happens when it’s Saturday. Expectations for life to be better than Wednesday, for some reason. To stay out late with someone you love; or even better, stay in with someone you love and fall asleep together on the couch. And then it hurts when it doesn’t happen, I guess.
Monday comes quick with its own rush of work and deadlines and I’ve decided I’m gonna like Monday. There’s no way around it, so I think the best course of action is to discover what’s good about Monday and think about that. Kind of like a family member who’s just there no matter what and when I tell my pop how very deeply irritating they are, he asks me if I pray for them because you can’t pray for someone for very long without starting to care about them, too. And you can’t stay one thousand percent irritated with a person you care about.
Touché, pop (and I am praying for this person now!).
Anyway, this weekend was a blur. But I remember the part when TJ told me lots of things he loves about me with all the excitement of saying it for the first time (even though it’s a lot of times past that now). And I remember Charlee dancing and laughing to music that is fifty times older than she is. I remember listening to Morgan James sing with such precision and power that I actually didn’t mind being out late to hear her (and I usually mind that a lot). And I remember having dinner at Fenway Park, way up high with the dugout far enough away to make it seem small. And then listening to Billy Joel with a flower in my hair and a totally rapt TJ to my right.
It was a lovely, speeding by weekend.
Monday, I know you’ll do just fine.
(And I’m not mad at you for not being Saturday.)