Three Day Weekends: A Love Poem

Now, I do not write poetry, though I love to read it and see it performed. This post will be more of the free verse variety, which will hopefully leave you with all the feels. This love poem is about: Three Day Weekends. 

Nuff said, amirite? Blog post done. Just joshin’—give me a chance to make you swoon with the practical, anecdotal logic of a smitten teenager who hopes this summer love just won’t end. 

Change Is a’Brewin’ 

Over the last few months, I have faced a stark reality hitherto unbeknownst to me (that’s poet talk for something I didn’t know was staring me straight in the face, but now I know). I’ve been operating as a workaholic. In my quest for financial stability and freedom, I’d lost sight of the forest for the trees. 

Work was consuming my life, and as a freelancer I was over-saddling myself with evermore opportunities to make money. The fervent hustle is worth it, but it’s not sustainable. What was meant to be short-term (work like a maniac to hit certain financial milestones), became my way of life. I was burnt-out.

Some changes I’ve recently made to combat this include: quitting one of my part-time jobs (effective July 1—can I get a hallelujah?) and going down to a 4-Day work week. While there are arguments for a 4-Day work week promoting more effectiveness at work, I don’t care about that. I care about making my weekends more effective. Because I committed myself through the end of May, my start date for this reduced work week was set for June 1.

Enter Memorial Day Weekend

Frankly, I forgot about it. I work some holidays anyway, and actually had work scheduled for Monday morning. My client cancelled (thanks be to the gods) and I found myself with a 3-Day weekend. Next week, we will be in June. It’s here. The time has come. I now, officially, don’t work Mondays. 

What Will I do With Myself, Pray Tell?

If the serendipitous turn of events that allowed for an early start to the 3-Day weekend life is any indicator, I will rest, work, and play. Folks, the gods decreed it! I have no choice but to acquiesce. 


This past weekend I spent Saturday resting. The night before I worked until 1:30 am and hung out with Mr. TFA when I got home. We went to sleep at a shamelessly late hour with no regrets. 

We woke up late, lounged a bit, ate lunch (frozen pizza, as is appropriate for a rest day), and then hit the town! We picked up ice cream from a local Soda Fountain Shop (small towns are exactly as cute as you think) and wandered over to the cigar shop and visited friends. 

Afterward, we came home and read, watched a little TV, napped, and engaged in witty banter. I felt a sense of relaxation in our home. As if we knew this restful day was not a waste, for we had two more days of freedom ahead of us. 

We gave ourselves the opportunity to rest, guilt-free, because we needed it. The long work week was behind us. We had ample time ahead of us. Rest was a viable action. It. Was. Glorious. 


Following a day of rest and a good night’s sleep, we sprung into action. We spent our Sunday doing a multitude of household chores. I cleaned the disgusting shower that desperately needed my undivided attention. Mr. TFA mulched the trees out front and revamped some outdoor landscaping. 

Our whole house is spotless. Our laundry is done and put away. The garage is swept and organized. I finally changed the batteries on our dead kitchen clock. The back porch is swept, our bedroom dusted, and our toilets are no longer odious. I even planted some fake plants in a flowerpot out front to fool our neighbors into thinking we can keep anything and everything alive. We are a deceitful people. But I digress. 

This Fascinating Adventure 

Three Day Weekends: A Love Poem

Image of a planter shaped like a swan. Inside the planter are several fake sunflowers planted in dirt.
“Fake” sunflowers. I mean, they do exist, so they arguably aren’t “fake” sunflowers.

Have we been living like slobs up until yesterday, you ask? Not tat tall. The thing is, we’ve been cleaning as needed, doing the bare minimum, and trying to stay on top of it while both working 50+ hours a week. Just as we’ve neglected our rest, we also neglected some chores, but that part of our story is over. We no longer have to live that way. 

Mayhaps we will return to our former state of squalor? It’s possible. But having an extra day in the weekend where I’m not just recovering from the past week, nor conserving energy for the upcoming week, is my new strategy! Come what may!


And on the third day, we played. Mr. TFA went golfing (paid for with tip money from his side hustle at the cigar shop). I sewed with my mom and puttered with my plants. Upon Mr. TFA’s return we enjoyed a leisurely lunch of salad and tuna fish sandwiches (a slight bend on our Meatless Meals pledge). 

We sat outside and enjoyed the mild weather. There were plans discussed of putting a TV into our bedroom (yes, I know, TV watching is terrible but we don’t care). 

All of our household and work-life obligations have been met. We don’t have shit to do for the rest of the day, except whatever we want. So this is what leisure time feels like! 

Looking Forward

My hope for my family—for you—nay, for all of us—is, weekends like this. A season of rest, rejuvenation, a sense of accomplishment, and some idle time. 

With my new schedule, I plan to take on most of the household responsibilities and leave weekends to be what they profess to be: a time of play and rest. Here’s to deciding for my-own-damn-self what my life is going to look like.

2 Comments on “Three Day Weekends: A Love Poem

  1. I love this! My weekend has been *exhausting,* mostly because of family responsibilities. I would change none of it. But…a three-day weekend of rest, rejuvenation, and a sense of accomplishment sounds amazing. I’ve got the accomplishment sense down pat!

    • Honestly, I think the sense of accomplishment part is the most gratifying. I love that you spent the weekend doing family stuff, and that it left you with that feeling!

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