Did you know that in the almost two years I've worked at this job, I have never taken a paid day off for fun? I lost all of my days to medical reasons. The only time off that I was able to take were holidays. In fact, the only days off I've had since my grandma died, I lost another toe and I went to detox were holidays. I've been at that place for every day I needed to be there since August.
Until now.
I took tomorrow off so I could give myself a weekend. I used to love weekends, which doesn't make me special, but I work M-W, F-Sa, so I never get two days off in a row. Goddammit, I took tomorrow off so I could do that.
I don't intend to do much. I was tempted to do nothing, like Peter in Office Space, but there are still things I enjoy doing. The important things are: getting a Country House cheeseburger (which will pleasantly be my second of the week) and seeing Cocaine Bear tomorrow. Hell, I don't know if I'll even write over the weekend. Read? Sure. Watch stuff? Definitely. But I don't want to be too taxing to myself.
I've been looking forward to this for all month, which means I will probably get in a car accident tomorrow. Or maybe I'll finally have that heart attack that's been looming over me like the Sword of Damocles since I turned 40. Or maybe a toilet seat from the space station will come crashing down on me as God intended.
I hope none of that shit happens, but I've been on a decade-plus losing streak, so I know better than to think this weekend will be great. Hope for the best, expect the worst.
Goodnight, fuckers.
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