A weekend, at long last, to myself, completely, with no work to do. Not planned for though, of course, and not entirely true, but I realize now, what a simpleton I am, that work, as any fool can tell you, is neverending, and time for oneself will never be handed to you by another. At least for now, that's what I think my fool will guarantee. So my intention was to go to the office this weekend, get some of the more tedious paperwork done before the start of the new week, which had sworn from the start of term to be hell and now promises to be a chess match with satan himself, swimming in the black and white of the seventh seal, and anyhow perhaps I was thinking, to keep the momentum from this endless working for weeks going, going, muscles aching for relief, the way an athlete might play through pain ten all in the fifth set and fifth hour of a match with no end in sight save he stave off defeat before they call bad light, if he doesn't sit down at the change of ends and allow his muscles to untighten themselves. And it seems, the call came without my knowing, which is how the call usually comes, the umpire receives a page from the referee and play is suspended and the players never know until they are told. So I was told on the bus home on Friday. Empty-handed, why bother lugging home work when you're coming in tomorrow, I text my colleague to ask what time he'll be in school tomorrow, and will you believe it, the workaholic isn't coming in... First instinct was to get off the bus, cross the road and go back for my files and my tablet. I didn't follow it, for some reason. No, I was just too tired to. Naturally, panic sets in when you don't follow your first instinct, but by the end of the evening, I'd realized euphorically, that I was locked out of my office with all the work I need to get done this weekend out of my reach. I don't even have a thumbdrive on me... Sheer bliss. A whole saturday, helpless- and slyly absolved- as only a man locked away from work can be, a whole day, spent reading, watching TV, doing a little shopping, feeling the knots in the shoulders undoing themselves every time I look at my desk, no files, no books, no work to be done really through no fault of mine. I mean, really, I'd meant to work this weekend. I guess play just got suspended before the cramps got the better of me, and I'll live to fight another day.