the days are numbered

I've realized something different about my life since my teaching days. 

Well, I've noticed several things, but this one is pretty major.

I've realized I don't care what day it is.

I mean, I pay attention to the calendar so that I'll be on time for appointments and deadlines, but generally speaking, the day of the week makes no difference to me.

I used to count the days.  I counted the hours actually.

"Three hours until I can go home".

"Two more days until Friday".

"It's Hump Day!  We're halfway there!"

"24 days until Spring Break".

I even put slashes on the calendar to document the advancing time.

During the school year last year, I realized that I was always wishing it was some time in the future. 

 I couldn't wait for that day to be over, or that month.  I had to count days between school breaks just to make it manageable.

Each day had a "feeling" or "mood "that accompanied it.

It all starts with Monday.

The most evil of the days of the week.  

After a wonderful weekend, Monday rears its ugly head to remind you of the work week.  

The week you have to survive so that you can pay your bills.

Then comes Tuesday.

Not as bad as Monday.  But its still painful.

Wednesdays are the midway point.  

Once you've made it to Noon, the pain of the week begins to subside.  

Thursday is even better than Wednesday.

It's Friday's little sister.  

You've almost made it.  The light has appeared at the end of the tunnel.

Friday is the end.

"It's Friday.  And I ain't doin shit."

Friday night of course, is the best.  You've got two whole days laid out in front of you.

48 hours of bliss.

Saturday is the still the best.  

The morning comes with memories of Friday night and the promise of what lays ahead for the weekend.  The job seems so far away.  You can really live the life you want over the weekend. 

Everyone talks about what they're doing for the weekend.  It's what you live for.

There's playing, napping, eating, visiting, watching movies, traveling, gardening, shopping.

Whatever you want to do.

Sunday is nice.

Still riding the weekend high.

That is until Sunday night.  Even by the afternoon.

Around 4 or 5, the depression starts.

The weekend is over.  Monday is waiting for you.

Monday will kick you in the face.

No matter how good the weekend was, Monday can kill it.

And then the process repeats.

Not a great way to live.  Each day carried no meaning.  It was just a hurdle to jump to get to Friday.  Weeks were obstacles to endure to make it to the holiday.

I was wishing my life away.

Now I wake up excited to do whatever the day brings.

Even when I work, I think to myself, "This is sooooo much better than teaching!"

When I'm not working, I get to do stuff that I want to do; things I enjoy doing.  Things that make life happy.

I pray every day that my good fortune will last and that our little business will continue to feed us. 

 Because the thought of going back to the days of counting hours.....

I can't even think about it.

I feel like I did my time, served my country, and I deserve this.