I 
never want to go to bed as the weekend closes. The longer the time away from work, the harder it becomes for me to submit to slumber. Don’t misunderstand. My job is fine. True, it comes with equal parts absurdities and fulfillments, and the balance between these two aspects varies week-by-week, but—regardless of whether I view my vocation as a vacuous endeavor or a mental puzzle that evokes purpose or some variation in-between—the pleasure that owning your time and being able to flow down whatever streams float your boat shall always rise above the hours spent toiling within a job’s structure. To go from successive days of defining your hours freely to another bout of eight or nine hours spent emailing coworkers, meeting to discuss whatever or whatever, and generally navigating the bureaucratic aspects of employment inevitably reminds me that casting oneself from the rigidity of employment to the adventurous world of friends, play, and explorations shall forever be the honey that shall sweeten the sustenance that fuels me.
This weekend was especially wonderful. Though, thankfully I attribute such words to most of my free days. I had ample time to film scenes for various videos and dabble in Final Cut Pro to learn its intricacies, of which I remain a novice. Some board games—such as Too Many Bones, Raiders of the North Sea, Hanabi, Dominion—swept along the hours. A couple episodes of Rick and Morty disturbed and delighted me, as is their tendency. Friends socialized via Zoom and played some games, such as Wavelength, which invariably amuses everyone with the outlandish clues and discussions to target where along a continuum the given clue sought our focus. A park housed a group of us as we lounged and played on a slack line, and some friends threw a Frisbee as I attempted to capture some photos of the dramatics, for frozen frames of catches create amusing visual splendor. Kitchen pursuits brought delectable delights to my tongue. Time spent meandering about this world with Kelly produced smiles as well.
Though, I do recognize that these wondrous events accrue during the workweek. We tuck play into the evenings, whether through group exercises conducted via video or in the kitchen as Kelly and I dice onions, fire up the range, and then sit at the table to decompress as vittles collect in our gullets. Games get played, both in person with Kelly and across the series of tubes that we call the internet. Words from books materialize along screens and in the air as audio snippets. Jogs take me through nearby neighborhoods. These things occur, and the world keeps spinning. Remember the joys we bring. Cultivate the sparks of life. Recognize darkness, yet never let it suffocate you. Hold all the dear things close. Let them fill you with their light.
Watch the flowers grow as spring transforms into summer. Let the electric of being alive tingle your fingertips and infuse your toes. Step as if you’re on the moon. Bound. Notice the sunlight tickle your flesh. The wind, it seeks to massage you. Voices call out to remind you that we’re connected. String theory, whatever its merit, gets some things right. Tendrils do connect us.
With a heating pad on my back, I stare back at the days that have passed. Last night a nightmare awoke me. I started in response, thrusting myself upward. Somehow, in this process, for it was a whiplash of sorts, I spasmed some muscles. It was impossible to look behind me, to turn about my torso. A pull-up would be infeasible. Spasms of pain such a motion would produce. Amusing, to have injured my body while asleep. An impressive feat. Some ibuprofen, stretches, and hours of the day ameliorated most of the discomfort. Tomorrow the recovery shall continue. Though, I confess that sleep scares me, for what if this self-destructive lurching repeats?
So, now I have work and the theatrics of being asleep ahead. Yet, beyond these hours, for that’s all that they are, hours atop hours, comes more freedom. Only four days this workweek. That’s not bad. Not bad at all. With eyes open, I’ll struggle against sleep for another hour, and then work will come and go. I’ll enjoy aspects. I’ll suffer through others. I’ll laugh with coworkers. I’ll smile at the witty things people say and do. I’ll appreciate that we’re all trying together to accomplish outcomes. And, and, and, and, and, then comes the weekend again. Toward that, I can swim, whether it feels like salmon heading out to the ocean or returning, beating against currents and rocks and perhaps even manmade constructs. For, in the end, most everything is a construct, whether physical or conceptual, and we can assemble our stories even if the chapter titles or subject matters are not always of our choosing.