End of the week, beginning of the weekend. Weekends can be kind of tricky because they "feel" like weekends, but really, as a writer with a day job, there's some heavy lifting to be done on the weekends. Up until today I had several quasi-plans for the weekend--these are plans that people have broached but then not really solidified, and they have about a 50-50 chance of just going away on their own. I knew that I could only do about half the plans, but I don't like to be the person who always says no right away, and since I never know which plans will actually happen, I tend to wait and see. Not infrequently, that strategy works out, but sometimes I have to back out something I thought would disappear but didn't. Sometimes, for group things like book club or wilderness I'll hang on right 'til the bitter end, assuming there will be a small cascade of last minute regrets until the the host will just cancel about two hours before the event. Then I get to feel kind of self-righteous for not cancelling plus I get a block of bonus writing time...
All of this is not really main thing on my mind though--except to say that I got to postpone a bunch of semi-scheduled stuff guilt-free because I needed to leave the time available to hang out with my brother, who is moving to Chicago ("back" to Chicago, as we both spent some years there). He was going to leave Friday, but some things changed and now he is leaving Monday, and so his schedule is all weird as he does things like return his cable box, wait for a truck to come take his car, meet with his subletters etc. I will squeeze myself into whatever piece of interstitial time arises.
Omitting the netherworld of a weekend, leaving on Monday is like leaving tomorrow. I have to say I'm pretty sad about it. That is the main thing on my mind.
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