The day of the week I despise

The day of the week I despise

I absolutely despise Thursdays, and now I hate them more than ever.

There was once a time when I had no trouble at all sleeping the requisite 6-8 hours and waking up at the crack of dawn. Now isn’t that time. I would much rather get up when rush hour has passed.

I drive to work before 7 a.m. to avoid getting caught, then hit the gym’s machines and free weights for two hours. Then I work, all the while nodding off intermittently in front of my monitor after lunch. (A lot of times, I imagine typing in stuff in my head, but when I look at my monitor all I see is “alksjlkklllllllllllllllllllllll.” Chalk up another failure for psychosomatism.) It’s a minor miracle how I can get any work done in my semi-catatonic state—let alone put in solid metrics.

Nowadays we all miss badminton so we’ve decided to have it on Thursday evenings starting at 8:30 p.m. By this time I’ve been starved of sleep for 15 hours and my brain and body are a mess, but I play my usual game anyway (albeit skuppered due to two months of not playing from flu).

So you can imagine the general weakness I slog through on Fridays. There’s no more obligation to wake up at the crack of dawn, yes, but my muscles are all begging for a release of pent-up lactic acid and tell my subconscious to go semi-catatonic again.

Yawn. And I’ve got a nasty head cold too.

My consolation is most of the weight I gained from Christmas’ excesses has gone.