Imagine this, if you will.

Monday morning is the sudden and total realization that you are merely a worker drone in a clockwork hive too complex and corrupted to fathom. A belittling experience, which conveniantly breaks your spirit and prepares you for the worst, which is usually undergone in short order.

The weekend, on the other hand, is a spiritual release from the oppresive reality that moors you to the grindstone. A full twenty four hours to do with as you wish. It feels as though you could go to Thahiti if you wished, whereas Monday, you would need a note from the teacher.

Lately, my life has been either the former or later of these two euphamisms, often occuring in the same day. From waking at 2pm until 11:30pm, it's Monday morning (with a breif, 30 minute weekend in the middle somewhere, to give me hope). Then, at 11:30'ish, I finish my sweeping and mopping, and it's The Weekend again! I am free to do whatever I want, which is usually hang out with my girlfriend and watch movies until I grudgingly submit to sleep.

That's the way I see it. But I've been wrong before, once or twice.