Weekends only postpone the inevitable

What lurks behind that portal?

A friend just posted something about teaching a something something workshop on Saturday. As much as I respect and have genuine affection for this friend, I do find myself questioning his sanity. See, he’s at the point where he could decline and could possibly assign the work to others. Although, as I said I respect this man and I respect that he wants the work done right. But Saturdays!?!

There are reasons classrooms and offices have doors – so you can close them tightly – because doors are portals that must be physically shut and mystically sealed against annoyances and nonsense which needs not have purchase in our times of rejuvenation and regeneration – in other words, don’t screw with my free time. I’ve worked a lot of Saturdays and a frightening number of Sundays; I’ve done it for money, for friendship and for escape. I’ve done it out of loyalty, out of desperation, out of necessity, and until I was out of my mind. If you can manage to avoid it: through negotiation, compromise, intimidation or guile; Saturday needs to become sacrosanct. It needs to be set aside, untouched, pure and unsullied by schedules, calendars, watches and social media reminders.

On Friday afternoon you close what needs to be closed, hide whatever evidence that your work actually ended on Tuesday around 11:30 – and run- don’t walk. You will actually feel care slip away – like oversize footwear. As distance and time grow, 200 meters and/or 30 seconds sounds about right – you may have only a vague recollection of what lurked behind that portal.

Saturday morning you awake, a temporary resident of an alternate reality. You may be suffering from trans-dimensional ‘ jet-lag’. Saturday afternoon is spent trying to remember some of Friday night. This disconnect doesn’t require any substance other than distance and actual enjoyment.

Sunday morning finds you still dimensionally detached, and this will last through the afternoon. This disconnect may last longer if you linger over brunch with a few friends. Adult beverages are optional.  … Eventually, around 7:00 pm you feel an ominous presence – some obscure and ancient warning that may cause some to feverishly plan a duvet-day escape plan- but it will only delay the inevitable.

Monday lurks, and it will arrive, like an elephant in musth, intent on trampling your tranquil oasis and befouling the waters of your serenity. You must face Monday with calm bemusement and feigned self-assurance. Monday will smirk knowingly. Don’t take it personally, that’s just how Mondays are.

Monday greets you at the door. It accepts your sneers generously and chortles as you capitulate, broken and sobbing, to the inevitable beginning. Your mandated 100% of effort is fueled and on deck. You suit up and wait for the go signal. Maybe today you’ll have the nerve to buzz the tower. As lunch approaches, you’re not sure if you can make it. Two o’clock seems so far away, and five is a dream left for the mad and newly employed. Somehow you make it, with only a little sweat and a few tears. Careful, Mondays feed on tear-stained dreams … and coffee-soaked anguish.

Tuesday is waiting and you’re there ready to give your full 70% – after all, you’re saving yourself for Wednesday. Be warned, if you’ve managed to dodge Monday, Tuesday is quite prepared to emulate, imitate and stand-in for its much-maligned sibling. After all, that’s how weekdays are.

Wednesday is festive, zesty, and almost giddy. It’s a quiet giddiness that may occasionally titter and has been known to share a shy smile. Energy levels are neck and neck with productivity, cruising at about 50%, slowing for the occasional coughing fit or sarcastic chants of love for the company.

Thursday arrives, and your commitment to giving your full 30% is the only thing keeping your toes on the office side of the threshold. Your toehold on a fast dissolving reality isn’t really fooling anyone, but surely even a not quite halfhearted effort is appreciated.

You slip into Friday almost effortlessly. You even manage to remark,” I can’t believe it’s already Friday.” You then look around nervously just in case Thursday has overstayed its welcome. Friday, when even your shadow isn’t fully committed to being in the office, is a day both joyous and fraught with tension. You have to be light on your feet because extra work, unplanned meetings, and the dreaded question, “have you got any plans?” dwell just out of the corner of your eye. Move quietly. Don’t jingle keys, or slam doors, or linger at the copier. The clock, your watch, and the artfully inaccurate timer on your desktop all conspire to keep you at work longer than necessary. Certainly, it’s longer than the time required by human-decency and that provision of the Geneva Convention that applies to working-class heroes.

There is a sharp clang as the gates open. Your desk is done. Your bag was packed on Wednesday morning. You burn rubber leaving the parking lot – and you’re walking. The lingering beast snickers, but you don’t have time to care. You’re out.

Don’t work for the weekend. Work to stop the senseless waste of hours in the unending quest to appease the beast behind the portal.

Seasons Greetings

Happy Holidays
Seasons Greetings

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The monster, the master, and the masses

I come not to praise the American Dream, but to bury it. We have seen the savage and public assassination of common sense. We have seen the naked aggression of an orange orangutan, and we have witnessed both reward and appeasement. We watched as leaders, lawmakers and the media stood aside and the Republican Party was allowed to build up their creature. We watched as the Democrats, through their arrogance and their malfeasance, attached the electrodes.
Make no mistakes, have no illusions America; you all brought this bigly monstrosity to life.
This morning, I am not any more fearful, but I am awake. We have seen the enemy, and it remains us. We have looked into the abyss and the abyss has looked back and chuckled. It’s honestly not that bad. Your only problem is the same problem you had yesterday; you expect others to be better. Sorry, they aren’t – and they’re not likely to change. Business is run to make a profit. Banks run to make a profit, and politicians run to make a profit. A US Presidential campaign does not spend billions of dollars, directly and indirectly, to put someone in a position to make a few hundred thousand dollars a year. It pays that money to put a mechanism in place to manipulate and enable manipulation. The mechanism is oiled and placed to engineer profit. Nothing has changed.
His Orangeness is a disaster, but he is also a cynical master of BS and dream-manipulation. This saffron-hued, irritable and ill-mannered manifestation of intolerant self-entitlement is an immature masturbatory power fantasy that handily plays into the wish-fulfillment of the millions deserving of better lives. There exist impatient millions, deserving for no other reason than they’ve bought into the lie of the American Dream, and they are willing to follow the dream-whisperer.
Sorry dreamers, you had your chance and you blew it. With Carter, and again with Sanders – you blew it. The working class exists to be worked, the middle class exists to grease the wheels of industry. The rich exist to get richer. The poor exist to scare the resistance out of everyone and make them content to be above it all.
Your participation in this is not entirely dictated. You can be more educated. You can be more informed. You can be self-motivated. You can work to realize hopes and actualize dreams, or you can just choose to sit. Stop waiting for change. Stop blaming others. Do better. Don’t support leaders, policies or businesses that do harm. Make better choices. Take responsibility. Make a change within yourself.

Hope that soars

In the years and centuries to come we will explore our solar system and reach beyond the incandescent majesty of our home star. We will stretch out with our will and our curiosity.

At our best we will be, at once innovative, steady and resourceful. As always, we will be prone to self-doubt and introspection.

It will be our disembodied intellects that will stride across alien deserts and sail the glittering seas of distant moons. While we propel ourselves infinitely across an inky void we cannot be oblivious to the needs and protection of our own fragile sphere.

We will need to enrich, renew, heal and listen to our home even as we seek to communicate with her counterparts.