Monday, March 26, 2012
The Case for Why Saturday is a Lying Jerk.
During the winding days of the week, one makes plans for Saturday, until Saturday becomes, in everyone's minds, a shining oasis in the distance–a place where all suffering ends. On Saturday, we shall join hands together 'round trees heavy with fragrant fruit, and sing Hallelujah. On Saturday, we will rest 'til our souls are replenished and then clean the house until it gleams like Cuba Zirconia. Saturday is the day we will right our relationships and satisfy our needs for leisure, introspection, community, useful activity and solitude. We will, on Saturday, restore the family to wholeness and gather together making merry. Saturday itself is doomed to disappoint.
Joy cannot survive the ordeal of Saturday. On Saturday, hopeful expectations are shoved hard against a wall and break their nose on the pettiness of ordinary misunderstanding. Arriving at the oasis, I find it to be a cluster of drunken fools, sitting 'round a lit garbage can and passing bathtub gin, still wet with their own saliva. The drudgery of a short chore list stretches its long arms into the hours that belonged to gardening and sitting happily, whistling to oneself merrily that there is nothing left to do. Family members whose hands one could almost feel grasped together with mine at the visions of milk and honey, turn out to be reprobates who trudge about letting off a foul gas of disapproval, cheerlessness or malice. Soccer games are lost. Almonds are spilled onto the floorboards of the minivan. Uninvited migraines are suffered. People say when you spend $80 to take all of them out to dinner after a soccer game "Did we have to go here?"
Saturday is a bride who, though beautiful when young, ages quickly into a toothless hag with a voice like jagged glass. She did not meet my expectations. Perhaps, I must learn not to want to much from her, no matter how stunning she may seem on approach. I will set my sights instead on summer. Ahh, summer...when I can wake blissfully whenever I want, without illness, tending gardens, writing for hours, enjoying the company of my children without the ever-present task mistress of school looking over our shoulders.
In summer, the world will surely be as it should.
Faith in Ambiguity by Tara Adams is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License