On the subject of One of those Days

I have never liked Sundays. They seem like a footnote to Saturdays and a precursor to Mondays.

It's the day we are supposed to rest, but for me, it seems like the day I am expected to work. It can be as simple as a honey-do list, or as complicated as going to the work that is my secret covert operation of which I am not allowed to blog.

You can tell from the tone... it's one of THOSE Sundays.

Growing up, there was no better day than Saturday. From the time I was little, it was a day to play, a day to stay up late, a day to enjoy. Now, Saturday is just another work day for at least 26 weeks a year, and somedays, the most stressful.

Oh, but that title belongs to Fridays. I produce a TV show that is edited overnight on Friday nights for a Saturday airing. I did it myself for five years, before hiring someone to handle the overnights last season. This year, I brought on an experienced editor/producer type who is doing a great job. However, I can't seem to let go, and can't get a good night's sleep wondering if it is all getting done. I keep waiting for the phone call that something is wrong. I shouldn't but I do. I guess it's the way I am wired.

That state of unrest leads to stressful Saturdays, usually from a lack of restful sleep, or the fact that work is going to take me away from a weekend. I don't mind the work, I just would like to have a "normal" life once in a while.

In the early 90's, I moved to Atlanta, arguably one of the most social cities in all of America. Here's the funny thing. In the first 44 weeks I lived there, I never spent a Friday or Saturday night there. I would fly to Dallas for work every Friday morning and return on Sunday. Somedays, it would be a couple of trips for another broadcast.

When that job ended, I finally found out what a Friday night in Atlanta was all about. However, that would not last long. I took a job with CNN which gave the lovely schedule of Wednesday through Sunday, 6 PM to 2 AM. So again, spending a weekend night in Atlanta was a thing of the past.

Now, in the burbs of Seattle, I long for a night out with my honey, but I am working most weekend nights again - in some cases weekend days AND nights.

And so the misunderstandings begin. My honey thinks I am never home, and that I spend all my evenings out. I am not one of those people who goes and hangs out at a bar with drinking buddies. Hell, I don't even drink. One night a week (Tuesday), I take an improv class and following the class, I go out with classmates - now to a Karaoke bar and sing a couple of songs before I come home. I am home by 11:30 to kiss my wife goodnight.

It's most difficult as I would like to get out and enjoy myself more often, but have not found any common ground with my love on things she would like to do. It's kind of like getting my kids to eat vegetables. I say, Honey - try this, and she makes a face. So instead of doing something, we end up doing nothing but watch shows we like on TV. Luckily for her, we have similar tastes, as I am a rare husband who, for the most part, likes Desperate Housewives and Grey's Anatomy and the like.

So the misunderstanding continues, and any desire I have to go have a good time is met as a direct front to my desire to be with her... which could not be farther from the truth.

And with that on my mind, it is most definitely one of THOSE days. I'd love to keep typing, but I have to go to work. Isn't that what we all do on Sundays?&$%$!

Yours truly,
Johnny Blogger