So last Saturday was the final ever Weekend America, an occasion on which I have expended so many words and emotions that I'm frankly wrung out. I mourn the loss, I stride into the future. There.
Saturday included a party at one of our producers' house. Then there was a Super Bowl party over at our friends' Steve and Sarah's house. They're Wisconsinites so there was Leinenkugels and weenies. And on Sunday night I was thinking, "I'm not ready to go back to work." After escorting Weekend America through the death process, it felt plum goofy to plunge back in on Monday and begin the long and complex process of developing new national programming. So at the urging of my wife, who is wise, and my boss, who is doing this same thing and is also wise, I elected to take a week off. Use vacation. Clear my head.
Part of Jill's plan was for me to do Bikram yoga, which is this crazy thing where you go into a room that's set at like 110 degrees and then you fail for 90 minutes while you attempt to do things that everyone else's bodies can do. Today was day four.
In the afternoons, I've been seeing movies. Milk, Slumdog Millionaire, and The Wrestler.
The neat part is that I now can't wait to get back to work. I have more enthusiasm, ideas, inspirations than I ever would have had going back to work this week.