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my dreams came true, but so did the imposter syndrome

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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 submis...
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