You’ll never hear anyone on a Sunday night saying that the weekend was far too long. You can sit at a Starbucks from six to nine writing and sipping coffee (decaf) and watching the people walk by Lexington Ave and you won’t hear one person talking about how much they’re looking forward to the upcoming week.
You’ll hear them talking about how fast it disappeared, "boy how it flew," and "is it really Sunday already?" The question is everywhere and we all think we’ve never seen 48 hours pass so quickly. I don’t know what it is about time and work and the way our lives are mapped out that makes us dread most days, makes us question Monday through Friday and where does the time go? Monday through Friday and where did our lives go?
This city is so full of so many people who are all looking for something that we just can’t put our minds at ease. We are planning ahead, thinking of the future and whether or not we’re prepared - business lunch, morning meeting, promotion, our dreams, love, February rent- what do we do, we wonder, when one of the balls we’ve been juggling up in the air for so long suddenly drops? Because it’s easy for one to fall, even easier to let it get away from you, so far it seems at points, that you may never be able to pick back up again where you left off.
Or, you can just be like the older man who was sitting next to me, sipping tea and reading the Times over the tops of his glasses, his sweater smelling faintly of moth balls and cigars, who told me he reads all of his Sunday newspapers a week late, because it makes him feel like he’s doing his part in keeping time from moving too fast, making what small attempt he can at not letting Monday through Friday catch up with him too quickly.
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