It disturbs me — friday is the day we all look forward to. It is the eve of the weekend — our main period of rest.

And yet, friday is the day that leaves me with the most discontentment and emptiness. For reasons I do not know. (I fear that this is almost feminine a behaviour)

How ironic it is — right before the moment we’ve been waiting for arrives, we lose interest or have a change of mood. There is no sense of closure that we were hoping to get. No sensation that we were looking forward to. How ironic.

And the cycle shortly repeats itself after the weekend.

A week spent looking forward for Friday.

(I see unintended metaphors. I’m subconsciously so good, I should be a poet)