I hate Friday afternoons. When I'm working, that is, which is most every Friday. I can't stand 'em. Friday afternoons have come to represent everything that I have tried to purge from my mind.
Yeah, that whole priest-altarboy thing...no...wait, not that.
The Zen thing. Yeah, that's where I had intended to go with that. Sorry, my bum's been bothering me of late. You understand.
Friday afternoons. The musty smell of the rectory...no, sorry, that's not it.
Friday afternoons. The work week is winding down, the hospitals are busy dumping all their leftover stuff on us for the weekend, and the routine of visit notes and supply ordering are tossed up in the air in favor of extra work; the Emergency Call Lists, and activity reports, and nurses who come stumbling in with their entire week's worth of paperwork to toss on my desk at the last minute.
And it's not just that, of course. It's people bailing out early, or sneaking off. It's the entire week's worth of sleeping bad finally weighing it's purple cloak on my shoulders, making me long for my bed. It's the frayed tempers and the last-minute changes.
And all of that makes me long for the weekend, when I will be so busy doing the week's worth of chores and odds and ends projects that the weekend will be over before I realise it. And that desperate living for the weekend, sharpened to a razor's blue edge is what irks me most about Fridays.
Zen. Zen teaches us (me) to live in the Eternal Now. Obviously this is not in tune with that thing that REO Speedwagon sang about way back in the halcyon 80's. I can't override it, though--my entire being focuses desperately on that moment when I get to roll the phone to the answering service and settle my bum on Betty's saddle and point her at home.
And this last hour? The worst. Even wasting time blogging doesn't help.
So tell me your means for dealing with the Friday Afternoon Blues. Feel free to include drugs, alcohol, and rock-n-roll related methods.