When the weekend comes it’s a treat for everybody.
I heard them earlier, on the radio. So bright and shining; they’re looking forward to everything.
Debbie and Mike are going canoeing on some big lake; Cassandra is attending a pottery workshop tomorrow; Robert is just looking forward to getting home to his beautiful wife and a cold beer or five.
I’m sitting in a smoky basement, choking again. The guys are coming over soon, but so what? What am I looking forward to this weekend? What does the weekend mean to me?
I’m just glad not to be in work for two days. That’s what the weekend means to me. But I find myself spending these twin days of freedom in free-fall, worrying about the onrushing ground, the return of the routine, the inescapable ‘Monday’.
Some people see the dawn as a rebirth, a resurrection of life and warmth and existence, I suppose. But I don’t know.
There have been some hard nights. The sort when the darkness never seems to end, and phantoms are plaguing you. I’ll admit, I’ve prayed for the dawn to come. But who’s to say that dawn brings anything better than the cloying darkness of the early morning?
I’ve been reading a lot of war poetry lately. Wilfred Owen, mainly. My son was studying it at school. Left the book here one night after he’d been sleeping over, so I picked it up.
I didn’t love it all, but so much of it grabbed my attention. I was already thinking about how the weekend is just a break in the monotony of existence, as night is to day. I wonder if Owen would have agreed with me? Here’s the quote that really got me:
The poignant misery of dawn begins to grow...
Dawn massing in the east her melancholy army
Attacks once more in ranks on shivering ranks of gray,
But nothing happens
“But nothing happens”. That’s how I feel, and I reckon that’s how most people feel, but they would never admit it. I can hear their voices now coming through my open window.
Filtering out the traffic noise, I can hear the clinking of glasses, laughter and raised voices coming from the nearby beer garden. The long dark of winter has ended and they’re out enjoying the light again. Yeah, they love it all so much that they’re going to drink until they can’t remember the things they had to do this week.
I’ve decided, I don’t think I feel like seeing anyone tonight. I think I’ll tell the guys I feel like a night in, on my own. Tired after a long week. Something like that.
Me and Wilfred Owen, we’ll be alright. We’ll keep each other company, and we’ll sit there together on duty. Watching and waiting, until the sun goes down once more.
6 comments:
This guy frustrated me; such a waste of a life. I reckon Wilfred Owen would have given anything to be in this guy's shoes and been able to choose what came of each day instead of being forced to sit in a stinking trench waiting to die. This guy represents so many people who don't have a clue how lucky they are that they have choices to make their lives what they want them to be. Really sad.
hi
my qn. is just the same:"I’ve prayed for the dawn to come. But who’s to say that dawn brings anything better than the cloying darkness of the early morning?"
I don't agree. Reading Owen on a weekend instead of bingeing on booze with friends is not a waste of life, surely. I enjoy solitude (though I hardly get it). And Owen is by far my most favourite war-poet, esp. his Strange Meeting.
My question is: does autobiography creep into your fiction or is it all observation and imagination? I like your stories for their variety and verisimilitude, they feel so real.
As for me, I'm a book rather than a music/film person. I like songs from old Hindi movies and I like to watch rom-coms, in Hindi or English. I love stuff like Gone With The Wind or Wuthering Heights (books and movies, both).
What about you?
Sometimes you need a break from the world and a good book is the best form! As for the weekend being just another 2 days of waiting for the workweek, well, there holds some truth to it. I suppose what you DO in those two days is where the difference comes in. It's easy to get caught in the rut of life. The only person who can make it enjoyable ~ is you.
Such. Sar. asked about autobiography. I don't ask because of what you said in your about me.
I'm glad I read this story because..............it's empowering for me. There I was thinking I was one of the saddest cases and then comes this character. It's sort of kicks me in the arse (lol, arse) and cheers me up.
"But nothing happens..." that is dreadfully sad. Thankfully, I am unwillingly optimistic.
once again, your writing relates to something I was thinking about with strange timing.
this guy could well be asking 'is the weekend half full or half empty'. I was feeling the same about weekends and already dreading the return to work after not doing overly much.
Then inspiration struck me in a few successive steps.
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