Sunday night blues

Sunday nights hold a strange place in my life. It's the last night of the weekend, when I am free to do anything I want, but it's also the night to prepare for the coming of the new work or study week.

In high school, I would go back to the boarding house in the early afternoon so that I can have some time to finish out the night. The TV is usually off in the common room, and the hallways empty. Nobody came back that early, but I relished that time in between home life and school life. When I could do anything, the possibilities are endless. But no. Not really endless. I couldn't call a cab and head to the airport and never to return - no I couldn't do that.

But I could crack open a book. Listen to the CBC and hear something new. Take apart my neighbour's computer for fun (reassembly optional). Find someone on the other floors to have a chat. See if the nurse is in and find some snacks. Take a short walk to the field and run around. Everything (that was available to my high school self) would be up for grabs.

It felt refreshing

However, there was also the drag. The inexorable march toward curfew, toward bed time, toward lights out, quiet time, whatever you call it. That's the border between freedom and the onslaught of the busywork of the week.

Sometimes I can't bear it and stay up late all night reading, but I could never escape that fine line that marked the boundary between the two very different kinds of life that I lived.

In university, the more things changed the more things stayed the same. It's a platitude but really, the freedoms are wider, I could do more things. Drink, party, play video games, but it's the same. The next morning, I had to get to classes. I figured out (along with the 150 other freshmen) that picking later classes mattered a great deal. Go to sleep at 4am, and wake up at noon for a 1pm class. Same deal. There was that fine line between doing what I wanted, and going to classes.

Over the span of a year, I broke that line. I dropped out, and went home.

I also broke myself. I took a cab to the airport, got on a plane, and just flew somewhere, anywhere. It was like a dissociation event, but not really. It was hazy. I needed to get out of the pattern.

I ended up in Prince George, Dallas, New York, Montreal, and then back to Vancouver.

After that I learned that I shouldn't break myself just for the sake of breaking that line.

Today, as a working man (the Brits would say working bloke), that line is ever so clear. As we all grow up, our lines come into extreme contrast and definition. There's always that side gig. There's home life. There're kids waiting at home, and we are told to be professional. To act, to be present even though the other parts of our lives stay behind.

Perhaps that's not the only way to be?

It's a question because I don't have the answers. It's Sunday night and I'm writing. I'm reading a delightful novel and I hope this Sunday night would never end. The infinite possibilities are here now, and I'm stealing the time.