Thursday. We are on the right side of Wednesday. But its no Friday.
Years ago, when I was an au pair for a particulary nasty family (no romantic notions of faraway places and cutesy kiddies for me) I lived for the weekends. All the crap I had to put up with (snotty bilingual kids and their friends, snotty pretentious mom who slept all morning while I took her kids to school, cleaning up after parties I wasn't invited to etc) was made obsolete by the arrival of the weekend. As soon as it was 3pm on the Friday, I dropped the kids off at cricket (yes, cricket) with their parents and booted it out of there as fast as possible.
The weekend would inevitably pass in a haze of vodka, boys and late night fast food and I would be right back where I started on Monday morning but I learned a valuable lesson that summer.
Vodka and orange juice don't mix.
That and that I never wanted to have another job where I lived for the weekend.
Fast forward to today and that's exactly what I have. Again.
I've always enjoyed the weekends (except when I had jobs that I had to work on the weekends- that was a nasty little reversal of things), but never more than when I don't look forward to the workweek. Now, more than ever (even when I was an au pair to the snottiest, brattiest children ever) I look forward to my weekends (and try to extend them by any means possible, whenever I can. I feel like I have a cough coming on, maybe next weekend).
Apparently I am not alone, and although you all suffer too, I take solace in this.
You all face Monday morning with me, and probably a barely legal dose of caffeine. You suffer through the time stalls of Tuesday and the Hump Day-ness of Wednesday. You are relieved at the thought of Thursday and by Friday you are already on your first drink to begin to wash away the unpleasantness of the week.
Maybe you work in a museum, mental-whoring your way through the day, patiently suffering through non-PC conversation about Somali pirates. Maybe you while away the hours in a cubicle, hoping that today will be the day people say your name properly, or start a conversation with you instead of averting their eyes. Maybe you keep your head down plotting all the ways that you can take this place down with you. Or keep a list of all the crap that your boss has done to you so that when you quit, you have something to refer to.
Wherever you are, whatever you do (except those of you that like your jobs, you are excluded from this) you live for the weekend.
The weekend. Blissful words. Bliss. Time. All your own. To sleep. Or drink. Or work out (if that's what floats your boat...I feel like that's more a weekday activity to keep the rage at bay). Read. Whatever you want to do, you can do it without some a-hole manager breathing down your neck about meeting targets or other corporate speak.
(While we are on the subject- what is with corporate speak?? Specially designed to make management feel more important? Or to grate on the nerves of the underlings? Whatever its real purpose, its annoying as f*ck.)
I'm just really hoping that the weekend comes quickly because I need a break. I know that it will be over in the blink of an eye, that come Monday, I won't feel completely rested or like I actually did anything with my weekend (although I do have 2 episodes of The Bachelor to catch up on--don't judge)--but the time will be mine to waste.
And perhaps most importantly of all, it will all be John-free.
Oh and VEG , I totally took my Sarcasma today.