Seconds pass slowly/as years go flying by
Aug. 17th, 2008 11:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
penfield"How happy is he born and taught,
That serveth not another's will;
Whose armour is his honest thought,
and simple truth his utmost skill."
- Sir Henry Wotton
Every Sunday at about 7:00 p.m., when the sun begins to set and the sky turns orange and pink, my weekend joy is colored by a mild sense of incipient dread. It's a small-scale version of the back-to-school foreboding felt by every youthful spirit around this time of year.
J. noticed this as we were walking home from the grocery store.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"Ehh, nothing," I replied.
"Why are you walking so slowly?" she asked.
"I don't want the weekend to end yet," I replied. I thought about it for a moment. "I'm not looking forward to this week."
"What's happening this week?" she asked.
"Well, I, uhh..." I stammered. This week is bound to be little different from last week, when the minutes crept by, dragging with them the dull priorities, drudgerous mandates and mindless administrative work that so commonly populates my August recess agenda. "I guess I just don't want to go back to work."
"Well, that's just one day," J. thoughtfully deconstructed. "Worry about the rest of the week after that."
"You're right," I resolved. "I should just be dreading one day at a time."
That serveth not another's will;
Whose armour is his honest thought,
and simple truth his utmost skill."
- Sir Henry Wotton
Every Sunday at about 7:00 p.m., when the sun begins to set and the sky turns orange and pink, my weekend joy is colored by a mild sense of incipient dread. It's a small-scale version of the back-to-school foreboding felt by every youthful spirit around this time of year.
J. noticed this as we were walking home from the grocery store.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"Ehh, nothing," I replied.
"Why are you walking so slowly?" she asked.
"I don't want the weekend to end yet," I replied. I thought about it for a moment. "I'm not looking forward to this week."
"What's happening this week?" she asked.
"Well, I, uhh..." I stammered. This week is bound to be little different from last week, when the minutes crept by, dragging with them the dull priorities, drudgerous mandates and mindless administrative work that so commonly populates my August recess agenda. "I guess I just don't want to go back to work."
"Well, that's just one day," J. thoughtfully deconstructed. "Worry about the rest of the week after that."
"You're right," I resolved. "I should just be dreading one day at a time."
no subject
Date: 2008-08-18 01:50 pm (UTC)