My Weekend

What a long weekend. What a long, strange, exhausting weekend.

Saturday morning: I wake up right on time to get ready for work, which starts at 10. I am surprised at my timely rise as I was up until all hours of the night on Friday and didn't get much sleep. What doesn't surprise me, however, was that I fell asleep for 30 minutes while showering. That, of course, made me 15 minutes late for work. When I did eventually get to work, I was surprised to find my mom in the office with, once again, her boyfriend. Now, I've been getting worked up about this for a long time as it is; I've been extremely aggravated with my mom's stupid actions and irresponsibility. I was hoping things were going to get better after she and my stepdad, apparently, decided to work things out. She even told the entire family, "I am through with Hector -- he is no more." So, one can imagine my chagrin -- nay, rage -- when I found them having a laugh in the office. Again. I walked into the office, saw them, made a quick left turn for the men's room so that I could get into the pumphouse (my office) and proceeded to trash the place with a lead pipe while shouting every obscenity in my vocabulary. My Irish blood was boiling. After a good 10 minutes, I tired myself out, collapsed in a chair and held back tears. I didn't see what good crying would've done me, but I also didn't see what bad not crying would've done me.

Saturday noon: I sat at my post, reading my Umberto Eco book, smoking cigarette after cigarette and fantasizing the things I would do to Hector with that lead pipe were he to come anywhere near me. Or look at me. I kept the pipe within reaching distance, hidden by the leg of my table, just to my right.

Saturday afternoon: Mom clocked out and went home at 3. Surprisingly, she went straight home. She tells us that Hector is, now, just a friend and that they're not having sex anymore. I'm still skeptical, but she's gone straight home three nights in a row, so that's something I guess. I supposed Hector stayed at the apartments, so I kept the pipe within reach, just in case. I've never dreamed of violence in my life; up until this situation, I've been the poster boy for pacifism. Now, I'm having daydreams about smashing a guy's face in with a lead pipe. That's troubling. I spend the rest of the afternoon shooting the shit with a couple friends at the apartments.

Saturday evening: Here was the plan -- I'd get off work at 9, then drive to Sycamore to have an all-night jam session with Josh, Ian and Corey. Joel, however, sends me a text around 8 that said his wife had just gone into labor. I relay this information to Josh and he proposes that we still hang out and, possibly, stay up all night -- sort of a "watch night," as it were. If Mandi were to give birth in the middle of the night, we were prepared to drive out to the hospital to congratulate them.

Saturday night: I drive to Sycamore and said jam session occurs. Josh's new townhouse is fantastic. We laugh, we sing, we play guitars, we watch picnicface.com. Corey goes home, then Ian falls asleep on the couch.

Midnight: Josh and I decide that if we're going to stay up, we need coffee. So we drive over to Steak 'n' Shake and talk about a myriad of things. Creepy DeKalb townies come into the restaurant, so we leave. We drive his car all over Sycamore, Maple Park, Elburn, Cortland, St. Charles and we just talk. We talked mostly about relationships -- mine with Megan and his with his wife. It was so refreshing to finally be able to talk with a friend about the significant life events that are taking place all at once in my life. I've met with Pastor Tom the last two Fridays and I think that's going to become a weekly thing, which is good and well, but as much as he's a friend, he's ultimately my pastor. It's an entirely different situation to discuss life and spirituality with a friend -- someone who's on the same level as you; not someone who speaks authoritatively into your life, but someone who helps to point you in the right direction and even sympathize with you. I miss that about DeKalb -- I don't have anyone in Yorkville that I can do that with.

Early Sunday morning: At five in the morning, after not hearing from the Nashes, I drove back to the pool to sleep on the couch in the clubhouse. I figured I could sleep at Josh's, on the floor, and get about four hours of sleep, or I could sleep on the couch at the clubhouse and get about five hours of sleep. I slept on the couch at the clubhouse and got about two hours of sleep. I did, though, get to watch the sunrise while driving there. I was hoping the sunrise would be symbolic of a new dawn in my life, but I doubt it was; the sun's rising is just an illusion caused by the world's rotation. There isn't much hope in that.

Sunday morning: The Nashes text me around 7:30 to inform that their daughter, Taylor Anne Nash, was born. I sent a brief reply and tried to fall asleep again, but it was of no use. I was excited for the Nashes, I was too tired to sleep, the sun was shining directly into my eyes and people were starting to walk around the clubhouse. I opted to just open the pool early and get back to reading Eco. I fell asleep, with the book in my hands, in the lawn chair I was sitting in by the pool. I didn't wake up again until 10:45, when I finally got my first swimmer.

Sunday afternoon: Since I run the joint and, essentially, make my own rules, I decided to leave in the middle of the day to go to the hospital for an hour or so to visit the Nashes and catch a glimpse of baby Taylor. She's a beautiful, beautiful baby and Joel and Mandi make for beautiful, beautiful parents. I'm very happy for them, very proud of them -- I know they're going to be wonderful parents for Taylor and she is going to grow up with a solid family. It is my prayer that she will be fully aware of just how blessed she is to have Joel and Mandi as her parents.

Sunday evening: I watch the Cubs split their Sunday double header and their four game series with the Cardinals. That is exactly what I did not need as my weekend's nightcap.

Sunday night: I come home for the first time since Friday night. I'm still so mad at my mom, I can't even look at her. I decided to write a blog.

And, now, I am going to bed.

1 comment:

  1. My weekends are typically work-filled. I work at a movie theater and the weekends are our busiest time, so I'm usually put on the schedule for ten hours each day Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, then left to do whatever I wish for the remainder of the week.

    I like it this way, because I get decent hours without having to work very often.

    It sounds like you had a busy weekend, but you need more sleep! I know all about that today; I went to bed at three but woke up at eight because of the pain in my leg.