May 29: Thursdays and Fridays

Thursday used to be my favorite day of the week.  My weekend used to begin on Thursday night.  I could sleep in on Friday, go to my university office and write in the afternoon.  Have a somewhat normal life.

Now, my weekend begins on Friday night, like almost every other working person.  I have to ask for time off from my job to go to the dentist or doctor.  Next Tuesday, I have to miss my son's end-of-year kindergarten picnic because I have to work.  When I get home, I'm so tired that I can't even imagine going for a run.

I don't care for Thursdays any more.  Fridays are just an exercise in anticipation.  I don't care for them much, either.  Friday nights are great.  Saturdays are gloriously free.  Sundays depress me, because they're followed by Mondays.  The rest of the week is just shot to hell.

Now that I've written that paragraph, I realize that I'm suffering from a huge case of pessimism.  Or defeatism.  I don't think I'm depressed.  I think I'm stuck.  Or I feel stuck.

Saint Marty needs a vacation from reality.

Don't I wish...