The five day work week is often touted as one of labours great innovations. My response to that is who wants to work 40 hours a week? There's nothing liberating about being tied to a clock. Sometimes I work 50 hours a week...sometimes 30. Besides, who the hell makes any money working 40 hours a week...unless, of course, you can arbitrarily inflate your own wage.
Like most modern innovations the "weekend" is an empty promise...a fantasy. Liberties that are taken on Thursday aren't restored for the weekend. Petty annoyances don't take Saturday and Sunday off. People don't become better drivers at 5 on Friday...and you're far more likely to jump in the club pool with your iphone on a Sunday afternoon than you are on a Tuesday morning.
Nothin' 200 bucks can't fix.
All you need to know about Saturday is this...at one point, I had to get dressed. By my reckoning that's a huge fail.
Sunday was particularly irritating...the church was swarming with striped rags. There probably weren't that many surrounding Vicksburg during its destruction. I'm not saying there's no place for a kind of patriotism in the church but, what exactly are we supposed to be celebrating this July???? The destruction of Vicksburg, Friars Point, Meridian, Oxford, Greenwood, Jackson, etc...or maybe more recent events like the fruition of lincolnism and the final destruction of state sovereignty?
In a nave that is, de facto, C of E,..."My country tis of the...land of the pilgrims pride"...you mean the Church of England hating, smuggling, self-rightious pilgrims of new england?...Pound Sand. Despite the presence of people in Virginia for eons, despite the fact the, so called, Revolutionary War was financed through Charleston or that George Washington and Tom Jefferson were Southrons...these witch burners have convinced themselves that they invented the country. Of course, as it stands now...it is their invention and has been since 1865.
No rest at home either...there's an open house to get ready for. I've got 20 minutes of sweeping...roof, deck, drive...and 10 minutes worth of battery for the blower. All in 100 degree heat. I'm pretty sure the Boy saw me fling the blower arcross the yard. Sue me. I have a pathological hatred of mundane tasks...and surly tools.
The Boy was a big help....
"Pick up your toys Boy."
"No...I'm...Not..A...Boy...I'm...A...Bad...Robot" ...choppin the air with his hands as he's walkin' off into the kitchen. Passin' gas the whole time.
Martha was up to her elbows in toilets and had no patience for my dissertation on the inevitable dissapointment of machines...given the conflict between thier promise and what they can actually deliver. She didn't exactly tell me to shut up, but...I went ahead and got a broom, went back to my sweeping.
Eventually we get loaded up for the pool...where, of course, I dunked my phone.
No lounging in my pajamas lazily reading blogs and corrresponding with friends...no NCIS marathons or window shopping on Ebay or Abebooks...just a maddening kalidoscopic series of interlocking frustrations.
Thank goodness this weeks "holiday" falls on a Wed. I don't think I could've taken a third day off.
