Welcome back weekend, I promise not to waste you on sneezes and coughs this time round. I promise you, Weekend, that I will do all my Christmas shopping and not yell at Jeremy and I will work on my novel and I will do laundry and dishes and even make dinner on Sunday.
O Weekend, I will not spend you in bed moaning and grumping and reading pulpy novels of ill repute. I will finish Spring Snow and develop my own characters. I will raise the stakes, both internal and external, of my semiautobigraphical work of sorta fiction, I will be true to my creative self, I will trust my friend Lori who promises me that my voice is worth hear.
O Weekend, I will use you wisely. I will not squander you worrying about work or spreadsheets or legal records or having too much to do on the weekdays. No Weekend, I will use you to get shit done so that on Monday rather than feeling downtrodden as I return to the financial epicentre I will know that I have a secret life away from the boxes and boxes of records.
O Weekend, could you maybe be three days long instead of just two? I think I’ve maybe planned too much for you already and it’s only Friday.