My husband, who cooks on weekends,
goes on the internet to find out when
weekends became a thing. In ancient Rome,
every eighth day was market day. During
the Han dynasty, officials took every fifth
day off to rest and wash their hair.
In the early nineteenth century, factory
owners and laborers came to an agreement
that work could stop at two on Saturday
afternoon, as long as people would come
to work sober on Monday. It wasn't until
1940 that the Fair Labor Standards Act
formalized the forty-hour workweek
and the two-day weekend. Some people
wanted more time for beer, others
for prayers. Some people sit idling
at their desks, then promptly shut down
their computers at 5:01. It's as if
the ceiling had changed to a different
color. Some colleagues advise me to ignore
work email on weekends, even when my Inbox
column glows with insistent green dots
at 10 PM. My youngest daughter says,
productivity and optimalization are concepts
of the capitalist machine. Why shouldn't rest
also be legislated? Heat up leftovers, or make
a small meal from scratch. Make tea, write
in your notebook, make valentines with your
second-grader. Think of a nap as an achievement,
as well as the whole history behind your being where
you are: here, when it could have been otherwise.