These weeks, it takes me until Saturday afternoon to realise that life isn’t a Perl module. And then until Saturday night to realise I’m actually quite stressed from the constant changes between the lonely life in Abingdon throughout the week and the life-as-a-married-man during the weekend. And by that time, the damage has already been done.
Really, I do have a great job and an even greater wife and working away from home during the week isn’t as bad as it might sound at first. At least not for me. It’s just that I keep, erm, calling a buggy subroutine in the program called life… Which isn’t good for anyone.

So now it’s Monday morning and I dearly wish it was still Saturday and we could spend some more time together. Or, since that’s not possible, that the week would go by fast and it’d be Friday afternoon soon. It probably will, but so far I’m not even getting much closer to Abingdon. There’s a fault in the train and while the train is progressing slowly, so is the delay (35 minutes… 62… 73 and still counting). At least it’s a good opportunity to think.