since starting a proper job, almost three weeks ago (!), i’ve noticed something odd about the days of the week. they have taken on certain significances that are very different to the ones of a professional diva.
mondays are filled with dread and loathing, mingled with deep regret at having spent the precious weekend lolling in front of the telly box.
tuesdays are hideous mood swings. between feeling lucky at having an actual job and wanting to jump out of the nearest window.
wednesday midday. the optimists are feeling smug that half the week is gone. the pessimists are reaching for the vodka due to the indisputable fact that half the week is still to come.
almost there but still a long way to go. a mistake on thursday could mean a weekend spoiled.
or (blessed are the optimists) that there’s tomorrow to fix it.
how we love friday. friday is the day when you turn round and say ” what the fuck. it can’t possibly be worse by monday”
“two days off”
don’t fall asleep… or you might not wake up until monday. enjoy.
oh. my. god.
two days off.
why the fuck am i awake at 6.30am?
peaceful sunday… shit work tomorrow…what time is it? sunday movies. what time does the last one fini…sh..shhhh