Sliding Towards the Weekend....

It's that midweek point. Tomorrow, being Thursday, marks the downhill spiral towards the weekend. It's the point in which the week leans favourably towards the weekend and, thus, is manageable. The first part of the week is the hardest. It's an uphill stroll, knowing that, eventually, you'll hit the midpoint where you can see in both directions. Today was the midpoint...I can see the weekend.

I think it's all relative- based on who you are and where you work. For me, I'm slowly accepting that while my job is not fulfilling my passion for life, it's paying the bills. I might not wake up every morning, excited to start working but it could be worse. My boss has given me a couple of backhand compliments over the past week- he's mentioned at least twice that I need to be fired because I'm too good at my job. My job is to test software to find the bugs before we release it. I find a lot of bugs. He jokes that he wants to hire someone who is too dumb to find the bugs that I find. It may not seem like much but, for me, that's a huge compliment. My company isn't big on positive feedback. The only time you know how you're doing is when you're summoned to the President's office and you leave not long after, carting whatever belongings you've collected while working for our company.

Bitter as it might sound, it's all true. Our President, himself, has said that the only time we'll get feedback is when we screw up. Thus, when I'm told I'm too good at my job because I'm finding bugs...I'm happy.

Granted, it doesn't mean I'm going to be excited to go to work each day but then, realistically speaking, who is? Even my friends who like their jobs don't jump out of bed each morning and say "WOW! AM I GLAD TO GO TO WORK TODAY!"

I don't know many people who feel that way. For me, in the mornings, the reality of waking up is this:

"[Clock Radio] What is this song? Hey, it's that's Jason Mraz song I like. Hi, Jason Mraz. Mmmmfff. What time is it. Oh, yeah, 6:44 a.m. , the same time I always wonder what time it is. Ten minutes more of sleep. Except...it's that Jason Mraz song I like. I should let it play. Ugh. It's over and now it's Sheryl Crow." [Bash Snooze button]

[10 minutes later] "Crap! it's almost 6:55 a.m.! I have to get up. Wait, it's warm under my covers and cold outside. What if I shut off the clock radio and turn on the TV? Maybe there'll be a massive snowstorm and I'm stuck here, in my nice comfy bed....[Turns on TV, turns of radio]. Bugger. No snow. Nothing but depressing news. Got to get up. [Get up] Damn! It's cold here. Why'd I get up?? Ugh, what do I have to do at work today?...

And so on, and so forth. This is a typical morning for me. I'm sure it's not that far off from anyone who works a typical Monday-Friday, eight hour day.

Honestly, I think work gives us a routine. That's not to say I like getting up at 7 a.m. to go to work but, in a way, it gives shape to our lives. I find, nowadays, even when free to sleep when I choose, I'd rather go to bed earlier to get up earlier. I guess I'm a 9-5 Monkeypants, as much as I hate to admit it. Even on weekends, I find myself being fully awake by 8 a.m. I might lie awake for a while, trying to fight it but, in the end, I'm always up by 9 a.m. It's an internal thing.

On the flipside, no matter how hard I try, I'm half-dead by midnight. When I was in college, my friends would want to go out on weekends. I'd go, because it was what you did. Yet, interestingly, my college friends were all what we'd call "sleep wienies." Every one of us would be half-asleep by 1 a.m., fully dozing by 2 a.m. Even when we tried to stay awake until 6 a.m. as some as our cohorts were able, we'd fail. I'd always end up in my own bed by 3 a.m., exhausted and still unable to sleep in later than 10 a.m. the next day.

I think our ability to sleep is inborn. My mother has informed me that even since I was born, I was an easy sleeper. I'd be in bed early and wake up at a nice 'do-able' time. My older, brother, however, was NOT a good sleeper. He'd keep my parent's up late and end up sleeping in to make up for it.

I think there's something in that, no matter how old you are. Weekends are the telltale sign. To this day, that same brother, who is almost 37, still stays up WAY too late and doesn't get up until almost noon on weekends. I was always an early-to-bed, early-to-rise type of Monkeypants. It stayed with me.

I fear for my sister. Her daughter, who is only three, is already asking to go to bed early. However, despite what may seem to be an innocent, sweet approach to bedtime, is proving to be an opportunity to thwart authority. For example, on New Year's Eve, I went over to my sister's to hang out and watch a film. My niece, having requested an early bedtime, was already in bed.

However, the next morning, she slept in late. My sister and her husband discovered that my niece had been up partying to the wee hours of the morning, having moved most of her toys around and having redressed them by the time they went up to see if she was ever going to get up. She's a night owl. Since her birth, it's been a challenge to get her to sleep. I think she's going to be like that through her life- much as my brother was and is, to this day.

I think it's interesting how things as simple as our sleep patterns are really defined from birth. Me, I'm a breeze. I like to sleep early and get up early. I like getting out and about early in the day so I can relax later on. I used to do my homework on Friday nights so that I'd have the rest of the weekend to have fun. That's me. My brother...he'd wait until Sunday evening to do his homework.

In the long run, it doesn't really matter. We all grow up anyway, regardless of our approach to life. Both my older brother and I have good jobs and are doing fairly well in life. We used to fight all the time and, because of our polar-opposite natures, dislike each other. Yet, over time, we've learned to get along, to embrace the fact that sometimes it's good to be different. I talk to my brother far more now that I used to when we lived in the same house. It's a strange thing in life but I'm not going to complain: I wouldn't swap it for anything.

Thus, as we move towards this Thursday, I'm reminded that my happy downhill path to Friday might be someone else's uphill fight. My Friday might be someone else's Monday. Thus...I shall stop, pause and consider that with reverence.

Yet, then I shall nod at them with sympathy and still do my happy dance of joy- when they can't see me, of course. It's very nearly, very almost...Friday. The downhill battle has just begun.

Happy Thursday.