My sixteen days of holiday vacation come to a close tomorrow on Monday morning. I return to work. I’m not ready for it.
I keep thinking back to the previous two weeks and pondering what I did versus what I expected, fully expecting to give report of my time off at the water cooler or during the small-talk portion of tomorrow’s standup call.
Sorry, bossman, I did nothing of note.
And that’s just it; that nagging feeling riding my neck the whole time I was out. That I’d have to do something worthy of tale and spectacle. “Live a great story” is a terrible way to go through life, and is a dumb reason to do things. My hours are nobody’s business, and now I have less of them.
Basically I had a long weekend. Kept the same rhythm, the same themes, and played the same verse-chorus-verse motifs. And now I hit the bridge straight into the next verse. Carry on, carry on, until the coda fades me out.