Not so long ago, Friday used to be my favourite day of the week.
Well, that's not entirely true. The day itself could jog on as quick as it liked if I was at work, but the evening - ah, Friday evening. How full of promise and joy you used to be.
Because it's all anticipation at that point. Much like walking out of the school gates on the last day of summer term, your time off stretches away before you to a barely discernible horizon. The idea of all that freedom is intoxicating and it feels inconceivable to think that Monday morning will ever arrive.
All the things you're going to do. All the jobs you're going to get done, all the fun you're going to have, all the hard living you're going to crank out in those 48 hours. It won't be like last weekend, when you wasted time reading in bed instead of springing into action at 8am. You won't spend any more hours relaxing, reading on the loo or just schlumping around the shops when you've got huge DIY projects to conquer, novels to write and bodies to hone. No way. This weekend is going to be different. You're going to be active. Effective. Dynamic.
And Friday is the gateway to all this opportunity. The lull before the storm and a wonderful moment of indulgence before the business of the weekend gets underway. It's not the BIG night of the weekend - that's Saturday, obviously - but it's a time when you can get away with popping out for a few beers or even just getting hammered and lying comatose on the sofa until 3am. Because it isn't a school night and that thought is just magical.
Traditionally, Fridays always used to boast the best telly. I seem to recall that when I was a teenager, Friday was THE night for comedy - you had at least a couple of hours of mouthwatering prospects, from Have I Got News For You through to the distressingly hilarious Beavis and Butthead. (As I got older, Gardener's World became the kick-off point for my pre-weekend telly fest - yeah, what of it???!!)
Sadly, that idea seems to have been relegated to the dim and distant past, much like my clubbing days and Blankety Blank. Now that my two current favourite shows are on alternative nights - MasterChef on a satisfying Wednesday (more than halfway through the working week, yay!) and Boardwalk Empire on an inconvenient Saturday (shit, it's Sunday tomorrow...) there is little to entertain me as I wait for the weekend to begin.
Because, tragic and hopeless though that sounds, it feels like that's all I do these days. Just wait. Wait for my life to begin again. For sad and stunted situations to resolve themselves and for my existence to have some meaning to it again. It feels like I'm stuck in a giant u-bend, waiting for a plug of hair and waste matter to be removed so I can be swept out of the stagnancy and into free flow once again.
I know that's a loser-ish thing to admit, but it's how I feel. So right now, Fridays are no more thrilling to me than any other day. It's just another set of 24 hours to get through - another chunk of time to be negotiated without accident, as I wait for things to get good again.
God, you sad cow. How ridiculous that looks written down. Take control again, for Christ's sake, and sort it out...
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