Is it Friday yet?

In the olden days, it seemed that the weeks bled into weekends. Weekends weren't the respite that they are now. There were just days. Back then, weeks were sprinkled with fun things like extra long recess, or candy, or a party. School was interesting because maybe, maybe someone would ask me to the dance TODAY, this day. Week? Weekend? It didn't matter. Life was awesome and everything was new.

College made it worse. Tuesday night? Sure, I'll drink a box of Franzia and watch Rudolph. Thursday? See ya at Flatts! Sunday? Just another day to catch up on my sleep and maybe clean the bathroom.

I always felt sad for adults that worked and hated their weeks. I wondered why all days couldn't be fun, or, at least interesting. I never wanted to be one of those adults that lived for the weekend. THEY, those people, weren't doing it right. They just didn't know how to live.

On Friday last week, I signed an email TGIF. People asked me what my plans for the weekend were on Tuesday. I have a feeling of dread and anxiety on Sunday nights. It creeps in around 4pm and stays into my finger hits the elevator button on Monday morning. I day dream about all the life I could live if paying my bills didn't mean sitting at this desk. Some days are worse than others. Some days are good. But they are all work.

Fitting a life into the weekends doesn't work. That's because life isn't all chocolate, sex, and poodles; it's mostly work. It's mostly doing things that suck so you can do stuff you like. It's a tradeoff. Sometimes the tradeoff is worth it. Sometimes it's not. I think if you are living Friday-Sunday and just functioning the rest of the days it's probably not a fair trade.

Life is too short to shorten it any more. Long live the work week.