Kurt R.A. Giambastiani

This is my last weekend. Ever.

From tomorrow on, I will merely have days, each barely distinguishable from the next, one after the other, days that form weeks, which form months, which in turn form years, onward, until I eventually end. The reason? This coming week is my last week in the work-a-day world, and as of this Friday afternoon, I will have retired from my 33-year stint at my place of employment.

We could have a semantic disagreement about the definitions. Some will feel that the weekends will always be weekends, fenceposts on the calendar of life, regardless of what activities I might (or might not) use to fill my weekdays. Others will say that I will have nothing but weekends, back to back, or that I’ll be on one very long weekend.

These definitions and outlooks have merit, in that they make logical sense within their framework, but for me, they just don’t feel right. For me, a weekend is the break between work-weeks, the time when one kicks back, tackles larger projects, gets together with friends, runs errands. I’ve long been one of the “early birds” at work, starting at around 6 AM, and I’ve been in the habit of “front-loading” my work weeks, working longer days Monday thru Wednesday, so I can shave an hour or so off my Friday, which when combined give me a jump-start on the weekend, giving me more like two and a half days for each weekend. And, of course, there’s the weekly case of Sunday-Night-itis, usually creeping in sometime Sunday afternoon, that dread knowledge that the weekend is almost over and tomorrow it’s back to the grind. This is what a weekend is, to me.

And this is my last weekend. Ever.

I expect I will be relying on the wall calendar more, checking the “day of the week” sub-dial on my old wristwatch, and of course, peeking at the time/date display on my phone. Because even though I will no longer have weekends, per se, the date still matters, and the day of the week still matters (especially on Garbage Night).

I’m not sure how I’ll structure my time, going forward. Will I plan? Will I occupy myself with whatever catches my fancy? I’m curious to see what works and what doesn’t.

However it works out, I know it will work out. Forty years ago, my wife and I devised a plan, and for forty years we worked the plan, and now we’re at the finish line, ready to reap the plan’s reward.

Excitedly, I repeat my mantra: Onward.

k

Read Full Post »