Sunday night

You ever feel absolutely shocked on a Sunday night that Monday is just a few hours away? As if it is utterly impossible that life would actually demand you that thing you did last week all over again?
I feel like that tonight.
Stupidly, I set up assignments for the morning and afternoon tomorrow, meaning I can't call out because, if I didn't have those things, I would be working on my best "sore throat" voice. Actually, at 32, I think I am going to start to pull out some different fake ailments to get me outta work when I absolutely have to head home. A guy in our office last week played the gout card. He is in his 50s, maybe even early 60s, so I don't know if I could pull that off, but maybe reoccuring migraines, or perhaps some sort of stomach condition, something where I don't have to resort to an 8-year-old coughing voice to call in.
I do think that, at some point this week, I am going to have to take some time, whether that be a full day off at the end of the week or a half day. I thought I was going to be able to make it to Memorial Day (that Monday off) but I don't think I can. I think I am going to have to take some time now.
Speaking of taking time, I watched the last episode of The Pacific tonight. If you're unfamilar, it is the HBO miniseries about the WWII battles in, well, the Pacific theater. Great series. Not as good as Band of Brothers but it might have actually been more powerful and certainly more somber.
Anyway, to my point: the last episode showed how all these guys came home and had a hard time adjusting. I can only imagine. You spend 3-4 years in combat, thinking you are going to die, watching friends get shot and killed, and killing as many of the enemy as possible. Then, within a few months of all of that, you are home and looking to get a job at the local factory? Wow, can't imagine.
But, I can't help but think to myself, whenever I watch these types of shows, of how these experiences are terrible but also noble and refining in a way. I have a hard time because in no way do I find war exciting or needed, but I do believe that there is a maturation that comes from that experience that is probably unattainable in any other circumstances. I think it probably gives you a purpose, a confidence, and a desire to live life more fully and truly because you have faced down death.
It also seems to leave a lot of nightmares in its wake, so I don't think I would like to go and join any time soon (and you only grow and mature if you actually survive).
However, there is no question these men who served did something grander than anything I ever have, and that has to be worthwhile in some way, right?