Last Sunday

Dear J-

It seems simple — just a few more hours, one more Sunday of work, and yet it’s been looming over my head all week like some sort of sword, delighting in telling me that there’s no way I can enjoy the weekend at this rate.  It’s already over, and all I’ve done is watch more than my fair share of Olympic coverage (handball, beach volleyball — here I confess I’ve never understood how you can separate the athlete from their looks, swimming, fencing, and all those sports that the truly devoted watch in lieu of housework).  Ah well.  All the same; the earth turns, the sun sets, I return to work.  It’s not forever, it’s not more than tomorrow, and all it really comes down to is being able to come home at the end.  I’ll live.  The frustration is not personal, yet the disappointment can’t hide, unfortunately.



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