Some will say the weekend starts when you close the “work shop”. I see the start of the weekend as something unimportant, but agree with the previous. The real issue is how to slow it [the weekend] down. Its end? Ah, yes, when you clock in again.
The sign on the road near my office reads “Men Working”, and you look carefully and find three women, and two men laboring. Is it “Men Working”, really?
Nursing homes are sad places. If the elderly has good money, their nursing homes are less sad—but sad nevertheless. For the poor and dispossessed, they can be/are a living hell. When, or if I get to that stage, I wouldn’t want to be in one. I would want to terminate instead.
Today is one of those few—but they exist, as evidenced—days I feel disappointed, and despaired. Not a good feeling.