The love of your life and your small dog are with you for over half of the weekend. You might visit your Dad or your Aunt, and put in some volunteer time with your mentee or the lady beset with terminal cancer. To each of these beings, you are somebody special.
You watch an action film, and project yourself onto the hero as he evades death a dozen times and sleeps with almost as many women. You might drink some beer and lapse into a fantasy world where you start up the next online empire that all of the cool kids flock to. For a weekend is a brief return to the boundless dreams of youth.
At your desk on another oppressive Monday morning, you are surrounded by people who are smarter than you, quicker, and more full of complex corporate social skills. None of the old friends you tried to reconnect with online have responded to you. You are handed work you could have done when you were ten. Copy, paste, check a few lines of code, copy, paste.
A little time to dream cannot be permitted throughout a week like this one. Or, to be more accurate, your dreams of grandeur flow completely from small successes and faint praise that pricks your otherwise deadly dull week. By Friday, you have the potential to become the CEO of the company if you play your cards right.
But, the weekend means you get to play inside your own dreams, not the ones some other man made and permitted you to peak into for a pitiful paycheck. You wake up occasionally inside an ever-blackening world of fellow grownups furiously trying to kill and recapture their dreams all at once. You keep these morbid beings at arms length, but you can no longer come to the party just to skulk in the corner with a cup of beer.
Out here, in this world, the one you helped build with your aimless sleepwalker’s hands, you are nobody special, nobody talked about, nobody missed.