The Friday Dump

My brain, today, has decided to be very basic. I mean that I don't feel capable of complicated thought or action. And I don't know for sure what the inside of my head looks like (thankfully), but I'm imagining it full of words. Today those words are as follows:

eat more
sleep more
hate work

Fridays are the worst. Every Thursday evening, after hours of class, after reading, after pondering the next stage of my book (which I am, by the way, totally overthinking now), I feel both intellectually stimulated and emotionally/physically exhausted. More than that, I feel the overwhelming urge NOT TO GO TO WORK ON FRIDAY, because I know that what I'd rather do is sleep in and then spend the day eating at my desk and writing. But because we have to pay this thing called rent (and indeed our bills, which always come floating through the letterbox at the worst possible times), what I do instead is wake up, stagger round the house eating cereal and trying to remember how to dress myself, leave the house, cycle halfway down Hurst Street, realize by seeing my own reflection in a car window that I've completely forgotten my helmet, cycle back home, retrieve the helmet, head to work.

It's an impossible situation, really. As soon as I get to work I remember that as far as jobs go, mine isn't half bad, and I like the people that I work with, I like that it's a school, I like, moreover, that they pay me regularly. And I know that to a certain extent it's good to have one foot on the ground, so to speak; last summer when I wasn't working I was so fretful about money, and about how I was spending my time, that I forgot what the real world is like, and neglected to write as much as I could (and should) have. But I know this is not what I want to be doing, this photocopying, filing, organizing job, and I know that come September, when I have another degree and (hopefully) a manuscript, I'll need to make some decisions. Days like this make me think the decisions will be easy; but the truth is they won't.