Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

I've had a beautiful affair with the three-day weekend. And this makes breaking up even harder than usual. The weekend left me alone for hours at a time because the weekend understands that sometimes I just want to be alone. He just quietly sat back, letting me know he was there but didn't stay for hours talking or demand all of my time. Because the weekend understands me. He gets how important it is for me to go see a movie by myself sometimes. And he doesn't think it's strange. The weekend also knows that I need to play so he gave me two boys and the batting cages, five boys and Scera Pools and three boys and The Bad News Bears so I could run and jump and play and laugh. Oh, the weekend is so good to me. He took it particularly hard when I called him last night to say I couldn't see him tomorrow. I have to go to practicum. It's not him. It's me. I'm the one that can't help but put my responsibilities before our love. I wish I could give him my everything right now, but I can't. And even though I know we both shed a little tear when I woke up dutifully to my alarm clock this morning, I know he understands. And I know he'll wait for me until Friday and he'll bring a Coke and some chocolate. Because the weekend is my perfect man. Sigh.