JR and I used to joke about our Perfect Weekend. One of these weeks, it was just bound to happen. The chores would get done. We'd see the people we wanted to see. We'd feel good. We'd sleep enough. No catastrophes. No worries. No speeding tickets, bad weather, car problems, heartbreaks, disappointments. No lame friends bailing out at the last minute. No wardrobe malfunctions, cover charges, or lost luggage. The more weekends we were alive, the greater the probability we'd experience The Perfect Weekend.
I almost feel guilty for having two of these in 2008. With starving children in Africa, for crying out loud. And I had two just this summer.
The first happened by accident. I was so fed up with work, with the I-can't-take-this-for-another-day mentality that I spent one of my (5!) precious vacation days one Friday driving back to Bloomington. We pissed around, polished off a bottle, spent Saturday afternoon at a crappy lakefront beach, and just slept. It was amazing, ca. summer vacation 1995.
This past weekend was unreal, though. It was the 10 year high school reunion. So strange, being grown, dragging luggage into my parents' house, scanning my bedroom walls covered with Tiger Beat cut-outs of Leonardo DiCaprio and Jared Leto, and then joining my parents on the deck for dinner and drinks. But we talked, all four adults, and it was fun! And the reunion was even better than I imagined, the birthday party for two-year-old little S was hilarious, and the housewarming party for J&C was comforting. The relaxing, love-filled conversation during the trek back to the Midwest, and the falling asleep on Sunday night, feeling worn-out, feeling sleepy, feeling loved, feeling close to family even though I'm far away... It felt so much like being a little kid again. And I guess that's what The Perfect Weekend is, that we're always striving for.
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