It's been quiet, even though it's been a long weekend.

A few weeks, a few months earlier, long weekends would've been events of great fanfare and pomposity, at least within my own mind and in my world. I would plan, and think very hard about what special thing I'd do to break the monotony of life in the army. To let the luxury of having an entire day to myself, from spending the night at home the day before, to not having to return to camp that night, would be criminal.

I'd think very, very hard about these special Saturdays that were all mine, and look forward to them with great relish and excitement, unhealthily large doses of expectation and anticipation, eager to meet that someone again, to do something special, to spend quality time together.

And every Saturday I'd await eagerly the replaying of all the magic from times past, hoping, and hoping, and deceiving myself, that the magic still existed.

But, the fact was that, I guess, the magic's been long gone, and I've only been avoiding the cruel, bitter truth.

These days, long weekends are just, well, an opportunity to rest and relax, to reset everything, and perhaps catch up with sleep, with myself. They're nothing great anymore; life has slowed down, become quieter, simpler.

In a way, it's nice, I guess. :) Bland, a little nostalgically, poignantly, sad, perhaps, but nice in that way.