Working on weekends… why does it even happen?
Surely the whole point and prestige of a weekend is that you have free time to spend with your friends and family who also conveniently have free time.
Now weekdays are generally accepted as working days and the weekday to weekend ratio is optimally focused for such schedules.
So why is it then that people are so intent on getting you to work on a saturday, surely the epitome of relaxation, the designated centre of free time and general fun, to spend that cooped up in the dark with people who can’t tell the different between a glove and a shoe is a little bit ridiculous.
So in your desperate attempts to retain a social life, juggling between spending eight hours a day doing absolutely fuck all, trying to retain a relationship and keep your partner happy, not killing yourself, trying to see friends enough to feel like you’re not being a recluse, squeezing in driving lessons, writing a blog every day, writing two novels at once, parading around your first finished novel, wondering why you can’t write songs at the moment, going to the gym so you don’t turn into some giant reese’s puff, trying to get some sense of happiness from the little simulators of more exciting universes we call games, wishing that I hadn’t taken a year out of education, hoping that I haven’t forgotten too much of my chosen academic leaning so I can do a job I actually enjoy at the end of this stretch of my life etc. etc. etc.
Maybe that’s just me but my point still firmly stands.
By the time you’re free on sunday everyone’s too worn out to want to do something again and a good percentage of the world has a spiritual belief that prevents them from doing anything productive, which is exactly the point of a weekend, but in their quest for something to do they find that everyone’s massaging their hangovers or cleaning the dust from their wallets they so valiantly flashed the night before, people are waking up with strange people, with strange diseases and strange marks on their frighteningly hairy backs and they get on with their lives knowing they’re doing an activity that Charlie Sheen would give his approval to, and all the while they’re just glad they’re not working on that beloved day.
One of the worst things, at least in my opinion, about the amount of time being drained away and exchanged for money is that I never have time to find something genuinely awful to ramble on about, remember those posts where I got loads of blog views and talked about terrible people doing terrible things and why they were wrong? Well I miss those a little, and without the aid of a donate button and thousands of viewers I’ll be lucky to be doing that again for a while.
Hopefully my book will get picked up in a while and then I can beg all of you fine people to buy it, that sounds like a nice idea.
But make sure you read it on a Saturday, because that’s the ideal day to be reading without a care of the world in your sun lounger.