4:30. They finally say "Merci, bon weekend." Grab my jacket and purse, and leave the room and head to the elevators as quickly as I can without looking like I'm bolting. Drop in at Subway for a sandwich to take home with me. Button my coat, open my umbrella, and walk into the pouring rain. Drop in at the depanneur. Find, in the very back corner, a few cans of soup, one of which is vegetarian. Back to hotel, go upstairs, collect Globe and Mail and La Presse. Drop purse, set umbrella to dry, take off boots, hang up wet coat. Hang up "Do not disturb" sign on the door, lock deadbolt and chain. Turn off alarm clock. Turn on TV to my normal RDI background noise. Fire up computer. Turn on phones. Put on soup. Take off makeup and apply zit cream and moisturizer while taking in all communication that has occured since last night. Soup simmers gently in background. I have TV, internet, DVDs, books, more than enough food for the evening and a depanneur across the street, and no obligations for the next 64 hours.

Bliss.

I guess an advantage to a full-time schedule is that it makes weekends so much more special.