February first. Whatever happened to our inalienable right to months that lasted long enough to notice? The classic explanation would probably be that we're all so busy, we have so many distractions, so much to do, that day after day flies by without being remarked upon. And certainly that's true -- last night, before the weekend had even started, I was thinking about what it will feel like to be at Sunday night, facing the beginning of another week, wondering where the weekend had gone. In a perfect world -- Martha Stewart's, say, or at least the one that she sells -- weekends would last several days, and there would be multiple instances of delightful whimsy along the way, prepared by the hordes of staff and behind-the-scenes support people. You'd reach out a languid hand, and your drink would be there; you'd have a yen to ride, and the staff would already have saddled up your favorite mount. I'm sure that there are people who live in worlds, perhaps even dimensions, like that, but no one I know does. I know one wealthy person - a relative who started and aggressively promoted an engineering business; it's now international, and though odds are you've never heard of it, the people in the field know it -- and I know one almost-wealthy person - a doctor who earns a fine income, and who might be wealthy were it not for the fact that she lives in an expensive area, has to pay malpractice insurance premiums which I gather can reach a staggering level, and has two children of college age who don't plan on attending the local U -- and neither of these people lives a life of languid ease. In fact, they are both hard chargers -- interesting, intelligent, accomplished -- whose weekends likely rocket by faster than mine. There's probably a message in there somewhere. Carpe diem? I'm having difficulty with carpe mensis.