... About Fridays

Reader, if I wanted to, I could make a seventeen-and-five-eighths-page list of the reasons why my current job is superior to my old one. But I don't want to. That's just far too much work to do on a Friday. Pretty much any work is too much work to do on a Friday. I look over at my inbox and think to my Self: I really should get that done before I go home. But then my Self responds with this undeniably eloquent and well-conceived response: Eh. I mean, come on! How am I supposed to argue with that?

I know what you're thinking, Reader. I used to complain endlessly about how little I had to do at my old job, how boring it was, how mind-numbingly useless I felt every day. Admittedly, my current situation is a vast improvement. I'd much rather be busy than bored. But there's something about Fridays, those last few hours before the weekend break, that causes all of my vital systems to shut down. My brain stops completely, and every minuscule task I manage to complete is done entirely on autopilot. I'm not a robot; I'm the empty, cavernous shell of a robot that used to have faulty wiring but now has, well, pretty much nothing except a couple of screws rattling around and some complex gadgetry that no one knows how to make work. So, even though I appreciate the fact that I have real honest-to-goodness work to do the rest of the week, come Friday the only appropriate sentiment seems to be, eh.

This is hardly a new development. One day, back in high school, Jentzsch uncharacteristically showed up for class looking like he'd just rolled out of bed. He gave me a once-over, then with an exasperated sigh he moaned, "Why did you get ready today?" I'm not going to lie to you. I was confused. Then Jentzsch ever-so-tactfully pointed out that for as long as he had known me, I had shown up to school every Friday looking like some kind of cross between Swamp Thing and Winston Churchill. His sloppy appearance that morning was his attempt to show support for my laziness and officially instate Wear-Your-Glasses-And-Don't-Fix-Your-Hair-Fridays. He, Brett and I proudly upheld the tradition until graduation. And in my case, beyond.

So now comes the part where I'm supposed to come up with a way to end my blog entry. I should probably put forth a little effort with this. I should come up with something witty and/or smart that will make you feel like you just made a good use of time by participating in today's blog, Reader. I should, at the very least, finish with a complete... Eh.