Exposure

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.