Losses Of Four

Ever since childhood, I have listened to people marvel at how slowly the work week passes, and how the weekend or vacation rushes past. I’m aware of the reasons for this phenomenon, but as in the case of acid reflux or betrayal, merely understanding a thing does not make the thing easier to bear.

Four entire days, and every one of them was enjoyable…right up until yesterday afternoon. I know there is a word for “fear of Sundays,” but I have been unable to find a word that succinctly describes the dislike of Sundays.

I once heard a self-important pastor declare to a group of us standing around a kitchen, “Heaven is going to be like the Lord’s Day, but it will never end!” I looked around at the other faces, trying to determine if anyone else was fighting as hard as I was to keep the horror off of my face. If his statement is true, I thought, then y’all can keep heaven. The idea of reliving Sunday forever and ever is not a motive to a virtuous life.

Four days, including a feast prepared by my wife on Thursday. And sitting here with the car warming up outside in the frigid gale, it seems that I only left work yesterday. How can one bear the loss of entire days? I am presenting to myself a mystery.

I am sure philosophers have struggled with how to make time seem to slow down. I would like to know if they have found any secrets and tucked them away somewhere. Facing the Monday drive to work, I would like to know.

~ S.K. Orr