I find myself, on Sunday nights, actually looking forward to returning to work, resuming a routine, seeing people and digging in to the work left on my desk Friday afternoon. I think that happens when you have a job that fits. I've had jobs where my gut hurt driving in to work, when personalities were difficult, or there was an unfair burden of underpaid responsibility. In those positions, I couldn't wait to leave the office at lunch time or at the end of the day, though the office never really left me, psychologically. The job I have had now for eight years is one where I drive in to the parking lot to see who of my co-workers (friends) have arrived before me. No sunken feeling in my stomach. No heavy sighs as I approach the building or unlock the office door. When I leave, the job stays behind. No residual stuff is carried home. It is all good, and it is a fortunate thing.
The nice thing about a work week is that provides perspective to value every minute of the weekend. Time off, whether for a weekend or a week, is cherished because it is finite. This past weekend found me home a lot, but out and about too. I did different things. I spent a bit of time helping my son move some things in to his new quarters. There was also time with my boyfriend Russ (we're both too busy, and it was all too brief). Saturday morning I baked some muffins and scones, and a special first birthday cake for baby Reyna's big day. Sunday I went shopping and had a nice lunch with my sister Patsy. Katie made a couple of terrific dinners this weekend and invited me down (over?) to her part of the house. After dinner last night I played with now 21-month old Henry who finds swinging in my laundry basket a thrilling amusement ride (if not an excellent cardio/weight resistance workout for me!). With a broad baby-toothed smile on his face, his giggles are the most joyful sound I've ever heard. He was laughing and exclaiming "wheee, wheee" with every swing. Out of the basket, he patted the carpet, inviting me to get down and wrestle, where he proceeded to roll me over and jump on me like a trampoline. He was exhausted and soon on his way to dream land.
Once Henry was tucked in bed and I was back in my apartment (with no TV reception, temporarily) I watched a Netflix movie and asked Katie to call me if the Saints had any chance of winning the Superbowl (they have good reception). The call came and I flew down the stairs in my PJs to see the happy finale. If I had any real interest in football, I'd have chosen a team based on loyalties. That wasn't the case. I wanted the Saints to win, if only for the city to have a reason to be jubilant, to celebrate, for its deserving people to experience joy in their lives.
Yes, it was a good weekend, and it is a good Monday.
Photo image: http://i33.photobucket.com/albums/d79/counsel/monday.jpg
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