The Perils of a Long Weekend

I have come to dislike long weekends.  My office was closed Thursday and Friday so I haven't been to work since Wednesday afternoon.  As much as I think the downtime is good for me, I have also felt a fair amount of ennui over this holiday, and the last few for that matter.  As I was wondering why that is, I realized that I haven't had a single conversation today, at least assuming talking to myself and the beagles doesn't count.

Now, I'm used to being alone and have even written about enjoying my solitary life much of the time.  In fact, I really don't know any other way to live.  Since coming home from a mission, I've been on my own.  Sure, I've had roommates.  Seems like even when I don't need them financially I still, for one reason or another, end up having at least one most of the time.  And, given how I'm feeling, that's probably a good thing.  But a roommate is different from a spouse/family.

Many advantages inure to being on my own.  I don't have to consult with anyone regarding financial decisions.  I don't have anyone to support.  I use my time as I will.  I wanted a motorcycle so I found the resources and bought one.  No one to argue whether it was prudent.  If I feel like reading a book, I do it.  A walk beckons and I'm off with beagles and iPod in hand.  Yes, indeed, being single is not without its compensations.

But, for the first time in my life, I find myself a bit lost in my singleness.  I actually think that the issue has been building since my sister passed away three years ago.  She was single and, frankly, a little odd.  That got me thinking about my life.  I may have a reasonably large number of friends, but I do recognize more than a little of the oddness I share with my sister.  The fact that I have honestly failed at life, at least if realizing my potential is the measure of success or failure.

These thoughts, of being alone, of my sister, of my oddities and of the way I laid waste to a life with so much promise.  They intrude frequently, but lately they seem to do so particularly over long holidays.  Too much time on my hands.  There is only so much I can make myself do around the house and yard.  There is a limit to how much reading I can handle, even though that is one of the few things that truly gives me escape.  At some point there's just too much unallocated time.  Monday can't really come fast enough.  Oh how I never thought I'd say that.

All of this leads to my sense of my own mortality.  Which has me feeling anxious about having my financial affairs arranged and my estate, however modest it might be, in order.  In fact, I feel a real anxiousness about creating my first will, which I will sign and have witnessed Monday.  Morbid I know but that's where my thoughts are these days.  Perhaps everyone goes through this when they finally realize that middle age has really and truly arrived.  Maybe the fact that I have pills to take and doctor visits to make, I'd been to the doctor fewer than two or three times between 20 and 40.  Whatever the cause, that's how I'm feeling.  A long weekend, while relaxing, only allows those feelings assert themselves.

Perhaps I will live to a ripe old age.  Life is nothing if not a series of waves.  Everyone goes through the troughs.  I've been around, I know how it works.  But at this point in time, at this stage in my life, I have a sense of foreboding.  And I also cling to a sentiment that I have expressed in the past.  The greatest liberty I have, the most powerful freedom I enjoy, is the ability to say when, to conclude I've had enough.  My decision and mine alone.

Now is not that moment, but should that moment come, I want to be ready, I want to have my house in order and I want the satisfaction of knowing that I will no longer be alone, troubled by long holiday weekends no more.