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Fridays

I've waited since last Friday for this moment. And I waited all of last week for last Friday.

I tried to enjoy the weekend. Friday night was quiet. The TV was on, and I can't quite recall what Netflix was chirping at me. I was nestled in a fuzzy throw, my eyes closed, on the verge of subconscious. But the next morning, it was over. Saturday was the prelude to Sunday–which sang of the impending doom of Monday.

Most Saturday mornings, I am awake at six. Creep downstairs. Shut doors gently. Watch the late autumn rain patter onto the streets as I let my eyes wander down the page of a book. Until someone else awakes, and I feel the need to do something  under the watchful eyes of productive members of society. And in that moment, my Saturday is already lost. 

I live Sundays in fear of the week. School, homework, not being able to have those moments on the couch, with the television to myself. Waking up early because I have to, not because I want to. Waking to the thought of submissions, assignments, tests, work. Not to the thought of red leaves and chilly morning strolls and the next chapter of a new novel. 

Sundays are about what I forgot to study over the weekend, what I procrastinate on. About getting ready for the week. About returning to sitting behind a computer for eight hours, struggling to absorb knowledge.

And then I wait the whole week for Friday. And it happens all over again. All for what? Two hours of fuzzy-throw-nighttime-Netflix?

Fridays are anticlimactic. I zone out in school, justifying that I need a break, missing out on sparse scraps of lessons that I fight to understand on other days. Turn to my cell phone, open up a new tab, glance under my desk to the book on my lap. It's certainly not a textbook.

I wait all week for the opportunity and justification to slow down, to simply let myself be instead of trying so hard. But it starts the very next day. I don't even give myself Saturday, and I know so many others who don't either.

So I speculate. I wonder. What is it about Fridays? What is it about the feeling of being so close to catching a break, and then denying yourself, only to wait another seven days for that feeling of nearness to return?

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