Tuck in early on a Friday, relax over the weekend and Monday you are right as rain
Fridays suck like overambitious vacuum cleaners. You know, the ones they demonstrate on television with the glass of ruby red shiraz and the white shag carpet. Fridays blow me away like a decrepit, aging moth in a typhoon with an attitude problem.
Show me a guy who looks forward to Friday and I’ll immediately be able to deduce that he is under thirty, doesn’t enjoy his job, doesn’t have enough work to keep him busy from Monday to Thursday and / or doesn’t have a kid who is alert and wants to watch Barney at seven on Saturday morning.
Fridays, from my highly subjective viewpoint, are days of bone-numbing exhaustion. Leave the parties, skip the bars, put the sparkling conversation on hold and let me hit the sack early, early, early.
I used to be immortal, with a liver that could, figuratively and in my mistaken estimation, take seriously heavy knocks. There was no drink, no matter how strangely concocted or poisonous, enjoyed on a Friday, that would keep me away from doing it all again on a Saturday evening, only better and probably louder.
Hangovers were things that happened to old guys. Now they happen to me after the slightest whiff of a rum and coke, and take two days to go away, even with the liberal application of Tabasco in tomato juice and a plate of greasy eggs and bacon.
An early Friday night has become a recuperative necessity. Tucking in early is the only way I can make it through Saturday’s early morning kid’s shows with my sanity and humour in tact. In fact, watching the sprightly wonder dance and sing has actually become very appealing. I’m talking my daughter here, not the furry critters and saccharine animations on the box.
Saturday and Sunday’s relaxing time aside, Mondays are almost always great for me. They arrive ripe with the anticipated promise of a whole new week, at least a few of the opportunities that my ambition suggests and the chance to get some of the stuff done that I was too bummed out and slow to make my way through on Friday afternoon. Blue Monday? Never! Plus I’m usually not tired.
We’re programmed to hate Mondays by losers who pitch up at work whining and groaning that it will take a whole week till Friday arrives again. Can’t they stay at home? There’s a whole bunch of unemployed or under-promoted people who would really love the opportunity to take their jobs and make the most of the day as well as Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday.
We’re programmed to hate Mondays by slackers who spread a virus of the mind that tries to make us believe that all work is bad, and that only hedonistic play can fulfill us.
Now here’s the telling exception to this subjective rule of mine: perhaps you hate your job and / or colleagues the way Darth Vader hates a Jedi Knight, in which case, it’s OK to hate Mondays. If this is the case, blame it all on your school Guidance Counsellor and take a day off to get your CV together and touch base with someone who can give you some meaningful career advice. There’s no point in hanging around, trying to convert everyone to your special kind of Monday blues, if the job is always going to be a losing proposition.
Work must be fun. After all, you are probably going to have to do it for the rest of your life. And some form of occupation is necessary: take a look at all the rich guys who don’t do something with their spare time… There’s only so many pina coladas and exotic single malts they can drink before even they start going on about how meaningless life is. Doing something interesting really adds meaning to life. Think of all the rich guys who work, despite all their money.
If meeting all the interesting denizens of Friday and Saturday nights is what really drives you, there are plenty of opportunities out there: night club promoter, turntablist, barman, bouncer or trauma unit reception nurse. And you won’t have to go to all the effort of killing the joy on Monday.
Beware! I’m starting a new movement. I’m reclaiming the dignity and pleasures of Mondays!