Member-only story
Go on — you can fess up. We all have them. At least those of us who do the Monday — Friday thing. In truth for me — as a nurse — what with taking call in most of my previous J.O.B.s — The Sunday Night Blues were a bit of a White Elephant. My schedule was so jacked up there was no such thing as a weekend.
But now — for the last several years — I’ve had a no-call, no-nights, no-weekends kind of gig. And let me tell you. The Sunday Night Blues are a real deal.
It usually hits me about sundown on Sunday. That’s when the bedtime ritual begins in earnest and I start tucking my weekend away. Dinner is over, dishes are done, the dishwasher may even be started. I’ve figured out what’s going into my lunch in the morning and my oatmeal has been made. (Yes, I make oatmeal, and not the in-a-minute shit — the old fashioned kind which you cook— do you know it keeps all week if you make it on Sunday evening? True story.)
Before you know it — it’s time to set the alarm and lights off. And with those final actions — my weekend comes to a close. My week begins with the weeknight bedtime ritual for preparing my mind/body/spirit to face my J.O.B. in the AM.
Part of me longs for a day when all my days flow like weekends. When there is no J.O.B. days/nights to intrude upon the leisure of my freedom. When I can truly be the master of my own destiny.
