Pam had fallen into a routine over the past few years (god, had she really been living with Roy for three years already?), one that she did not consciously think about very often, but that she reacted very strongly to having disrupted. She talked to Jim almost non-stop (or at least, it felt non-stop) from 9-5 on weekdays; she came home and ate dinner (either food she made or takeout) with Roy, then let him turn on the TV and watched with him until about 8 or 9; then she got online and stayed online until about 11 or midnight, chatting with Scranton. At that point she went to bed with Roy, woke up with Roy, showered and got ready around Roy, and went in to work.
She found herself wondering why she disliked weekends. Or at least weekend days, which seemed to stretch forever into the mists. She vaguely remembered liking that feeling as a kid. The limitless possibilities of a summer day or a weekend afternoon were a temptation to be savored. Now, the limited options available to her tended to be 1) football, baseball, basketball (in that order) or an equivalent local sport as decided by Roy 2) the lake with Roy’s brother Kenny and whatever girlfriend he’d managed to hang onto long enough to invite her out with him and Roy and Pam 3) twiddling her thumbs while avoiding (1) or (2). In the evenings she still hung around with Scranton online, but her fingers itched during the day to text Jim, call Jim, communicate with Jim somehow. She didn’t, because she didn’t like the feeling that she was somehow dependent on Jim for her happiness. And truly, consciously, she didn’t even realize that was what she wanted to do. She just found herself picking up the phone and wondering why it was in her hand, or thinking about work, or (on one strange day) staring longingly at a ream of paper for half an hour. So she just sulked most of the weekends, unsure why but unable to stop herself either.
It might have helped if Roy had noticed. Then she would have had to confront the fact that she was unhappy, and to ask—herself, Roy, anyone—if this was really what real life was supposed to be like. Instead he noticed nothing different. If anything, he was happy that Pam seemed so easygoing about watching so much sports on TV. He remembered vaguely that when they first started dating, and then again when they first started living together, she was always bothering him about doing things on the weekends, ruining his perfectly good days of relaxation away from the warehouse with errands or art shows or something like that. But now she didn’t, and he liked it. Maybe women got better at this relationship thing as it went on, or something.
Jim felt slightly differently about his routine. He too had one—just like eating ham and cheese every day, he liked to keep things simple—but he knew what was wrong with his. What was wrong was that he wasn’t interested in the right girl. Katy was fun, and they went out on dates a few times a month—a little more than once a week, a little less than she’d have liked. But he found himself thinking of a different face when she looked at him, or of a different screenname when she messaged him, and he knew it wasn’t going to last.
But since it had lasted longer than any of his previous attempts to get loose of Pam and Morgan’s joint hold on his brain, he wasn’t about to stop it anytime soon. But he felt very guilty every night when Katy went home (or he did) and he booted up his computer. Because she kept hoping he’d stay over, kept hinting they should stay out later, kept calling him “Old Man Jim” for his eagerness to go home by 9. He’d convinced her Dunder Mifflin was a much more stressful workplace than it was as an excuse for all his early nights; fortunately, she never talked to anyone from his work without him there so he was not yet caught out on that particular lie.
The weekends were often when the two of them would get together, precisely because didn’t have plans with Morgan then. But this particular weekend Katy had had to cancel (something about a convention where she could sell her purses to a particularly well-heeled group of conventioneers) and he found himself alone with his thoughts unexpectedly. Well, his thoughts and his computer.
MorganLaFey: hey
MorganLaFey: didn’t expect to see you online
MorganLaFey: how’s it going, stranger?
WScranton8: same old same old
WScranton8: how’s about you?
MorganLaFey: dead
MorganLaFey: or rather, the day is
WScranton8: as long as you, yourself, are not
WScranton8: while there’s life, there’s hope
MorganLaFey: so they say
MorganLaFey: but I’m booooooooooored
WScranton8: me too, to be honest
MorganLaFey: wanna play a game?
WScranton8: what game? There’s nothing on until tonight
MorganLaFey: no, not that kind of game
MorganLaFey: an us-game, not a game-game
WScranton8: um, ok?
MorganLaFey: yayyyyyyy
MorganLaFey: all right, I spy with my little eye something beginning with B
WScranton8: really?
WScranton8: this is what we’re resorting to?
WScranton8: I feel like I’m 8
MorganLaFey: if you were 8 you’d play with me :-P
MorganLaFey: c’mon it’ll be fun
WScranton8: seriously?
MorganLaFey: I’m not hearing any gueeeessssinnnng
WScranton8: fiiiiiiine
WScranton8: briefcase?
MorganLaFey: what am I, an old-timey lawyer type??? no
WScranton8: bandolier?
MorganLaFey¨are you just flipping randomly through the Bs in the dictionary? no
MorganLaFey: guess again, and try for real this time
WScranton8: oh, I’m supposed to take this seriously?
WScranton8: well, then, I suppose it matters where you are
WScranton8: I’m going living room, so…bookcase?
MorganLaFey: cold ;-)
WScranton8: in the location or the guess?
MorganLaFey: both ;-)
WScranton8: not the living room…bathroom? bidet?
MorganLaFey: how do you even know what that is? and again, not an old-timey lawyer, so no. Very cold.
WScranton8: living room, bathroom both cold…bed?
MorganLaFey: ding ding ding
MorganLaFey: boring days are great for sitting in bed
WScranton8: I suppose they are…
MorganLaFey: your turn!
WScranton8: um….I spy with my little eye…something beginning with A
MorganLaFey: ok
MorganLaFey: I got this
MorganLaFey: ants!
WScranton8: as I am not currently having a picnic, no
MorganLaFey: artichoke dip!
WScranton8: if I were having a party I’d have said so
MorganLaFey: that’s not a no…
WScranton8: no :-P
MorganLaFey: Adirondack chair?
WScranton8: nice vocabulary, but no
WScranton8: give up yet?
MorganLaFey: gimme two more guesses
MorganLaFey: no, three!
WScranton8: fine, do your worst
MorganLaFey: AC outlet
WScranton8: nope
MorganLaFey: AOL!
WScranton8: oooh nice guess
WScranton8: but no
MorganLaFey: hmmph
WScranton8: one more left
MorganLaFey: OMG if you tell me it’s an AC adapter and not an AC outlet I will be so mad
WScranton8: is that your guess ;-)?
MorganLaFey: fine, yes, AC adapter
WScranton8: no indeed it is not!
MorganLaFey: what then?
WScranton8: Art
MorganLaFey: art?
WScranton8: yeah, your drawing of the sunset
WScranton8: it’s on my desk in my bedroom
MorganLaFey: aww
MorganLaFey: that’s so sweet
MorganLaFey: and also a total violation of the rules!
MorganLaFey: sunset starts with an S, buddy
WScranton8: but I don’t look at it for the sunset :-)
MorganLaFey: :-)
