“Weekend”—how I scoff at that archaic term, br I’m not sure—but I think br it refers to a time many days past br when periods of work were measured br By these things called “weeks.” br And—supposedly—there would be this “break” br where workers would get a chance to “rest, ” br thus bringing an “end” to the “week” of work. br Now, I understand “work, ” br but these other words are unfamiliar to me. br Am I to believe there were stops? br That there was something other than ceaseless labor? br That days could be so easily grouped br into ones of productivity, br and ones of relaxation, br rather than appearing as an on-going sea of tasks, br a blur of endless obligations? br Could there really have ever existed br a world where I would have time to do as I please? br From where I sit in my paddle boat, br battling the waves with my oars, br gazing at the vast expanse of ocean, br I do not believe it to be so. br This “weekend” is a fantasized idealization, br a utopian idea, impossible to exist br within the walls of reality… br my reality.