Fridays are supposed to be the best day of my workweek and yet (oh, and yet) they are inevitably the worst.
Even though I hate waking up for work on Monday mornings (actually, every weekday morning — my hair is a study in filthy right now), somehow the workday itself always flies by. Getting back in the routine seems so foreign at the start of every week that the sheer novelty of working helps the time to pass.
Fridays, on the other hand? Worst ever. Even after a minor setback at home had me come in at 10:30 instead of 8 this morning, my last day chained to the desk is lasting an eternity. I’ve only been here 5 hours! Insanity.
I can’t wait to cycle home and be done. This week has been like an Everlasting Gobstopper, if they were gross and fun-sucking and lame. Which, actually, they might be, since I’ve never bothered to eat one and find out.
