I emerged from the bathroom cubicle, opening the door for myself, when
CRASH
I slammed my head right into the door
That I was opening for myself
So hard that I sat on the floor with a startled bump.
Really.
It is not my day today.
I sure am glad nobody saw that!
Dear Friday,
Am I allowed to write a love letter to a day of the week? Is it the done thing to do? Am I cheating on Tuesday, if I use her generous time to commemorate her competitor?
Oh but Friday, how I look forward to you. I eagerly await your sunrise, I dance through your hours with a spring to my step, even in the dead of winter. You fill me with joy, hope and an anticipation which grows with every hour approaching dusk.
You signify the end of an arduous week, and the blossoming of freedom and a thousand possibilities. You are better than a Saturday or a Sunday, because rest during your hours feels deserved, somehow; earned.
Oh, I love you, Friday. A deep, burgeoning love. A love that breeds of yearning and satisfaction. A love that comes from tenderness and care; a soft lamp on a tired evening, the soft rustle of pages turning in an exciting book, the warm smell of freshly cooked pizza, delivered to the front door.
Friday, you massage my achey feet, you throw my door open for me and the light flooding out is beckoning, full of promise. On other days I walk in stressed, thinking about the work ahead of me, but on your days, you caress me so and my mind empties. My shoulders relax.
I miss you when your last tendrils float away into the deep night, and I long for you before the new week has begun.
You are my new hope, and my old joy.
Yours most faithfully.
I want to draw on what I know today. I woke up like I haven’t woken up in a long time; refreshed and filled with a vibrancy that can only correlate to a night of uninterrupted sleep.
Do you know what uninterrupted sleep feels like, folks? It feels like a mind willing to hear what the world has to say. It feels like birds chiming together, each song separating from the other yet joined in one harmonious melody. It feels like a glass of lemonade after a sweltering hike uphill, or the wonderful view, finally, after a long and tiring struggle, of the earth in it’s multitudes of beauty spread out hundreds of feet below. Sprawling fields, snow caped mountains in the distance, framing glittering pools, a sky in hundreds of shades of blue, forests and deserts, oceans and miles of untouched terrain.
I feel quite awake. My mind is no longer clogged by the clouds of fatigued misery. Welcome, Friday, I hope your time with me is well spent.
Ocean Bream 