I often land at the end of Friday feeling excited for the weekend and then, by Saturday morning, I don’t know what to do with myself. What I did today is irrelevant to this conversation because the actual point of this is related to how brutally and relentlessly conditioned we become when we work on the average 9-to-5, most likely in an office, most likely Monday to Friday.
I know that this vague sense of celebration associated to Friday and the equally vague but persistent feeling that it is Saturday and I should enjoy myself is entirely correlated to a lifetime of corporate constraints. Whether I take Monday off or Sunday off or Thursday off makes not a shred of difference to my current life.
Equally, whether I sit at my desk on a Saturday afternoon penning my diary or working on the current video is also completely irrelevant to my wellbeing, mental or otherwise.
And yet. And… yet. The pull persists. The FRIYAY remains. The blergh, Monday again, also persists. I am coming up to two years working on something other than what I knew. I do not know how much longer I will subject myself to this drag, to this pattern that is no longer mine, to this sense that it’s my day off and I need to make the most of it.
No, I am making the most of every day I have left, whatever it is that I am doing.