Dearest Rachel –
I’ve gotten accustomed to the gym I go to these days to the point where I think I could scribble up the playlist I hear as I walk uphill for an hour. Maybe not completely, and certainly not in order, but there are a number of specific songs I’m guaranteed to hear from one visit to the next, without fail. I wrote to you about one of them (which, while not part of our mixtape playlist, was certainly part of the soundtrack of our academic life together) over a year ago.
Good grief, has it been that long? I mean, yes, it’s been more than four and a half years since you had to go away, and I’ve been working out at this place since getting back from Asia (I’ve had to renew my membership once already), so I guess time is passing, and quickly, too. It’s just that it’s hard to realize what I’ve told you about when sometimes.
But let’s put these two subjects together for a moment. The video above is another one that I hear almost every day I’m in there – which makes sense when I’m there of a weekday morning, as most of my fellow gym rats (gosh, do I count myself among their number? I should hope otherwise) are putting in their reps before heading off to the grind of the work farce that you let me leave behind some six years ago now. But when I’m in there of an occasional Sunday afternoon, it’s rather discordant to hear. Who on earth is “working for the weekend,” when the weekend’s already here?
Granted, that’s a generalization; there are those for whom Sunday is just part of the work week (our pastoral staff come to mind, as do so many restaurants which tend to close on Mondays instead, since it’s a much slower-traffic day for that kind of thing). And while I never heard the term “Sunday Scaries” to describe the sense of dread felt as one contemplates the upcoming work week late on a Sunday afternoon until I was no longer susceptible to them, I could immediately grasp its meaning upon first hearing the phrase. So yes, it’s not entirely out of place at such a time.
Meanwhile, you may be wondering why I’m rabbiting on about the latter part of a weekend when we’re only just about to enter a new one. Well, as it happens, despite having a week shortened by the day we spent traveling home from Boston (although it was a chaotic afternoon in and of itself), I’m ready for the weekend to start already – even though it’s going to be one of my busier weekends, what with my scheduled to be in the booth and all that. Honestly, that sort of mundane activity is nothing compared to the frenzy of the past few days.
Today, however, appears to be the perfect lead-in to such a weekend, though. With the financial statements sorted last night, and most of the work done for the auditors (although I do have a phone call to deal with on Monday), things are not pressing upon me today like they have been since returning; I can take thing a little bit easier. Which I fully intend to, including with a walk through the forest preserve with Lars (although that will be cut shorter than usual as well, as he has a few pressing responsibilities to take care of that will preclude our getting together for lunch. Such is life), along with possibly meeting with the girls (well, two out of three ain’t bad, as Meatloaf is famous for singing) for dinner instead.
Hmm… well, it’s not as if my schedule is tapering off…
I kid; these are more leisurely appointments, as opposed to the necessary assemblage of information and whatnot that I’ve been working on up until now. Just because I need to be somewhere at a certain point in time doesn’t make it stressful; it’s what I need to bring with me, whether literally or metaphorically, that make it so. I’ve been working hard this week, short as it’s been, and I’m looking forward to a slower afternoon and evening to recover from it all.
Granted, I wish you were here to enjoy it with me, but I know that’s selfish of me to demand. Still, given that you get an infinite amount of time where you are, it would have been nice to have a little more down here beforehand, so we could enjoy more of both together. But until then, I guess I can do little more than ask that you keep an eye on me, and wish me luck, as down here, I’m still going to need it.
Letters to Rachel 