Surprisingly, the very best thing about three day weekends isn’t that it’s an extra day not tethered to my cubicle. That’s a perk to be sure, but it’s not the best bit of a long weekend. That position is reserved for the simple fact that a extended break means there’s time enough at last. Time to fit in those things that never seem to get done when I’m busy cramming everything else into two days. There’s been time to read, time to write, time to build out a new tortoise habitat, time to spend four hours in the middle of the day cooking and not worrying about what other stuff isn’t getting done as a consequence.
The three day weekend means I can cross a couple of items off my want to do list instead of just getting through the “must dos.” It feels good to get to something beyond must run the vacuum, must do laundry, must cut the grass, must get groceries. It feels vaguely unnatural to manage to do something I actually want to do for a change.
Time and the lack of it are regular features here. They’re a regular source of frustration. I’ve spent more of it that I want to admit pondering why it always seems to be short at the end of the week. I doubt I’ll every crack that nut in any particularly satisfying way. As long as I like having a roof over my head and some nice bits of kit underneath that roof with me, time’s always going to be the resource that comes most dear… so just now, instead of thinking about it, I’m going to enjoy having some of it in excess for just a little longer.