I mentioned last Monday that I had begun a new life that morning, on June 1st, and that it was beyond great. I was working - hard - harder than in a long while - and I was enjoying every minute of it. I got home late in the evening, exhausted and truly happy, and continued the working and getting home late routine all week until Friday.
And then, quite suddenly, I took the weekend off. I did some editing for WIP's YouTube channel but nothing more. I relaxed. I celebrated 200 days until Christmas. I'm actually writing this very article the next day.
I took the weekend off. It's so funny to say it. I feel like all spring I had half-worked all week and then half-worked all weekend, instead of clearly dividing the two. And now, the first week of June, the division was clear.
What makes this ecen funnier is that I've been reading MJ DeMarco's Unscripted lately and in the book he exposes named days as a hyperreality designed to make you a slave to the scripted life. And usually I agree about everything with MJ. But man, after living nameless days since last November, waking up whenever I wanted and working through the weekend regardless of the name of the day, it was SO refreshing to be able to work when my spouse worked and relax when he relaxed, knowing I would continue the grind on Monday.
The last time the word Monday meant anything to me was when I was still working a corporate job in my field two years ago. And I hated Mondays back then.
But this Sunday, the idea of the approaching Monday did not make me sick. It made me gleeful. I would get back to working again.
I don't know yet whether I'll make the weekend off thing a recurring theme in the future. I don't know if I'll have the patience. But right now I can still bask in the knowledge that I had the most deserved weekend in ages.