If I were an Edwardian poet, I would be wearing a blousy shirt and be wearing tight riding pants while sitting around writing a soliloquy about how the weekend is here and the rough week we had is floating away like a scarf floating in the breeze.

Then I remember they did not work and had no concept of a work week. Maybe church might have reminded them there was a logical break somewhere for the peons, so this poetic license would not have existed.

Regardless, I am sitting at my office desk and avoiding work and wearing comfortable sweatpants considering the upcoming long weekend. Two long weekends in a row are unheard of and I am unsure how to process this wonderful surprise. The work week was unproductive because no one else was at work so I did not get anything done. Now I just want to eat bad food and drink too much beer. Much like an effete poet would.