Ten years ago, I did not value weekends. I did not honor them...I just didn't have them, period. In fact, I spurned weekends, thinking they were for the weak, for those who lacked dedication. In my mind, I was on a mission, and I just had to work hard 24/7. Anything less was not my best. Somehow my identity was so entwined with my work that I was lost.
Okay, maybe that was only six years ago.
Today, this being a FRIDAY, I cannot fathom that person I was. I have been aching for this day since Monday, and that's not probably any more healthy than being a workaholic. I am not going to any fall festivals, football games, parties...I am not even looking forward to anything on television. I will not be sleeping in (never do) and I don't even know what being bored is all about. The hammock is for Homer Simpson. Give me a hammer!
I have been aching and itching to build something. This weekend, at last, I may get some of the raw materials to do just that. I'll have to borrow a pickup, and I'll have to borrow some time from work (as I am perpetually behind now that I have this more healthy perspective on work), but I fully intend to get cracking.
It is also payday Friday, which for me is a rarity, as we only get paid monthly in the first place, and that seldom lands on a Friday. I'm going to expend all my fun money in the budget (that's a joke in itself) all-too-quickly, I know, but I have SO YEARNED for this opportunity.
Not even rain will stop me.
No force in heaven nor on earth could keep me from my mission--except my family. If they beck and call, I will forfeit all of the above. Let's hope it doesn't come to that. Maybe I can tool the tribe up with hammers, saws, gloves, etc. Maybe I can take them with me to Mecca: the hardware store!
Anticipation is killing me. I still have work to do for the next 3 hours, 46 minutes and 14 seconds.
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