Sunshine clear and bright this afternoon, the sparkle tempered by a brisk, gust-filled wind — par the course.
Breeze carries a sharp chill, but was way-pleasant this morning during a walk to Safeway — once the winds come up, the relaxed tempo-flavor of outside activity fades, unless you have yourself a good wind break.

Once again the weekend!
Time nowadays apparently flies via a bullet-train on a calendar-track.
Saturday and Sunday, though, grind the rails and generally have come to suck.

(Illustration: Rene Magritte’s ‘La Clairvoyance,‘ found here).

Now as a nearly-nine-month retiree, I no longer view the weekend as the oasis in the desert of labor, in reality, my entire sense/view of this highly-work-related ‘living for the weekend’ concept has shifted apparently into the opposite direction — Saturday and Sunday have become over the months as a pain-in-the-ass.
For one, there’s no early-morning news loop-programs like Monday through Friday — during the weekend, nothing but dead air at 4 AM.
WTF! Does news stop?

And the weekdays are quiet. A Saturday or Sunday has more noise, more loud, boisterous movement. People act goofy, party too hearty.
Not working, all the kids gone and being a true-loner in persona, or maybe there’s some ancient brain cells on overload, or whatever, I now much rather prefer a Monday to a Friday.

Yet this two-day sojourn from toil was for a long time, the R/R of life.
So resonates these particular lyrics from “Livin’ for the Weekend,” by The O’Jays (1975):

Monday to Thursday
I’m dead on my feet
Most of the time too tired to eat
When I try to read the paper
I fall fast asleep
But as soon as Friday rolls around
I lay all my weekly burdens down
I put on my glad rags
And paint the town
(Living for the weekend)
Friday night alive
(Living for the weekend)

The immediate future, beyond the hours left in Friday, now must occur mostly within the weekend.
Time don’t wait for Monday…