by N. A. Green

Created on: March 02, 2009

I love Fridays, and Fridays love me.

Fridays are both a blessing and a curse for me. I wake in the morning to the sound of my alarm like any other day, except as I rub the sleep from my eyes it hits me: I don't have to do this again for two whole days.

Suddenly, I have a spring in my step and a song in my heart! I bustle about my kitchen whistling a happy tune. I sing in the shower, I am rarely surly or grouchy to my dear husband. On my way to work, I blast my music as loud as my eardrums will allow while bellowing the lyrics to my favorite songs. My dear friends, Fridays are the best day of the entire week because I have the entire weekend to look forward to.

Once I get to work is when Fridays begin to be a problem. I go about my usual morning routine; make a pot of coffee, start the clocking-in process, check my e-mail, etcetera. Once I am officially "on the clock" I am expected to.... Gasp...... Work. I am supposed to be productive. But wait! How am I supposed to be productive on a Friday? Fridays don't really count as work days, do they? A mere 9 hours stand between me and my weekend freedom. How can I possibly be expected to concentrate at the tasks at hand when I have that in the back of my mind all day long? I try, folks, I really and truly do. I may get a few cells on a spreadsheet done in between obsessive clicks of my e-mail. A paper order may actually be filled as I am feverishly updating my Facebook status every time I cough or sneeze ("Natalie is sneezing!" "Natalie is yawning!" "Natalie is updating her Facebook status!"). In between reading humorous blogs and checking celebrity gossip on the internet, I may actually make those phone calls that I've been putting off since Wednesday.

More often than not, however, I avoid work as much as humanly possible on Fridays. Don't get me wrong, I consider myself a very valuable and good employee. I am usually quite the little worker and get to a task as soon as it is given to me. My brain just can't seem to get past the fact that there is so little time between myself and my fun-filled two days off on a Friday.

There also seems to be a curious phenomenon each and every Friday that seems to occur for me right around three-thirty P.M. It is very likely that you, my dear reader, have noticed this freak of nature also though for you the time of day might vary. I'm talking about the last hour and a half of your work day when time, quite literally, stands still. I swear to you this happens. I glance at the clock right around three-thirty and think, "Oh boy! An hour and a half!"
What seems like an eternity later I will glance at the clock again, certain that at least forty-five minutes must have passed.
Three thirty-five.
The numbers blink at me jeeringly, mocking me and my impatience. I stare back, willing time to speed up. Willing the clock to shift forward, willing five o'clock to just hurry up and GET HERE! And still the clock blinks at me in all of its' red digital glory.

Of course, five o'clock does eventually come around, and I am freed from my cubicle cell for a glorious weekend of doing absolutely nothing. For two whole days, my time is my own and no one else's. I have no deadlines to meet, no spreadsheets to format, no customers to assist. I am my own woman free to have fun....

Until Monday, that is, and the wait for Friday begins all over again.

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