We only talk on Fridays

Like any good socialized herd animal, I too am susceptible to following some acceptable standard patterns of behavior acted out around me by my fellow humans. But, the weekly pattern that was thrust upon me by society, at least psychologically speaking, is one pattern, I just don’t want to get with anymore.

For example, on Monday, the first day of the pattern, generally speaking, it seems as if the majority of my contemporaries are scurrying about in some moody state of gloom and doom. One could infer that this is the acceptable behavior for Monday. If you were to get out of line or express some inner joy, you should feel as if you will be cast out of the herd or worse. These feelings are understandable in a way, since the weekend has just past. Over the weekend, we live our lives as we should or as we naturally would if we were free from our vocations. For most of us, it is the only two days out the week that we can truly be ourselves. So come Monday, when we put all that freedom, good times and true self being away, it sort of makes sense that we should go along with this expected displeasure for our current weekday circumstance. But, I say it shouldn't be like this. In the short period of time we have to mosh about in this pit, we should all appreciate every precious moment of time and not squander any of it with feelings of obligatory discontent. That would include Mondays.

It was with that spirit in mind, that I decided, to behave myself Monday thru Thursday as if I was in some permanent state of Friday-ness and to bypass the default weekly pattern. But, why Friday and not Saturday or Sunday? My mother who is retired, is in a permanent state of Sunday-ness. She is so content with this situation, that most of the time she has no idea what day of the week it is, nor does she care. For her it’s total bliss, living like this, from one Sunday to the next, which is tomorrow and the day after. But for me, Sundays are nice, and Saturdays are great, but Fridays, oh yes Fridays…that’s the day for me. There’s something about Fridays. They are filled with grand expectations of what’s to come and what could be. The shared joy that comes from the relief of making it through, and the happiness associated with the mystery and anticipation of the weekend adventures to come.

So here’s how it goes…

Monday.

Day one. I tell myself that it’s Friday and that tomorrow is Saturday, not Tuesday. I tell myself over and over until I believe it. I will eat that doughnut that I normally only eat on real Fridays. I will take my time getting to work and not rush. I will smile at every person who is inclined to make eye contact with me as I casually cruise a slow pace. I will take a little bit longer and dillydally at the coffee shop. Later, in the office I feel a general consensus of contempt for my existence and nobody really wants to talk to me. But so what, I will be happy, because it’s Friday and nobody knows it but me.

Tuesday.

It’s still Friday. Collared shirt? Nope. T-shirt again. Everyone in the office who was annoyed with my happy Friday attitude is slightly less annoyed with it on Tuesday. Probably because for them it’s no longer Monday. They really hate Mondays. They still eye me with suspicion, they still don’t want to have a real conversation, and something is just off about me for them. At night, I go out to my favorite cafe to have a glass of wine, because that’s what I normally would do on a Friday night. There’s only a couple people at the cafe, which is unusual for this Friday. Great, I like it.

Wednesday.

It’s a slightly better Friday then yesterfriday. At this point, I’m in the groove and have thoroughly tricked myself that tomorrow is Saturday. With this in mind, I can do whatever I want tonight, even though it is Wednesday. People around me are starting to wake up from their gloom. They greet me, for they can see that their Friday is two days away. Some go home that night and raise their kids, I go out and raise a little hell.

Thursday.

I discover that pretending it’s Friday for four days is good for my spirits. I can be myself, I can do what I want, I can say what I want to say, because every day is Friday and tomorrow will be Friday too. I start to realize that tomorrow will be actual Friday which will make it a double Friday. This fills me with even more joy of anticipation of what’s to come. People, who are stuck in Thursday, are starting to tolerate me even more, even though I’m thanking God it’s Friday on Thursday. They just might be ready to have a real conversation with me tomorrow. I can’t wait.

Friday.

Finally, it’s Friday for everyone else and we are all on the same page. People are sharing and eating doughnuts all over the place. Strangers return the random smile from me, the random stranger. People are meandering about in the coffee shop at my slow pace. Later, at happy hour, people are eating pizza — a very Friday food. They have their first Friday beer. My behavior, attitude and disposition has finally become accepted among my peers. It feels as if we all see eye to eye. I join them, have a slice and a beer, just like I did last Friday night, which was last night. They allow me to join into their conversation about puffy jackets. We are actually having a real conversation about puffy jackets. This is the most epic double Friday conversation ever!

Saturday.

I’m hungover from the Friday night festivities. Five straight Friday nights have caught up to me. But luckily it’s Saturday, so I can sleep in and recover. God only knows what everyone else is up to. They’re supposed to go nuts on Saturdays, according to the pattern. In the late afternoon I wake up. I go out and indulge myself in my weekend mischief that I’ve been anticipating for five Fridays. It’s the best.

Sunday.

I have brunch, nap, wash all my casual Friday clothes and get ready for Friday morning.

This has become my new pattern. The Friday pattern. It’s almost always Friday and the weekend is around the corner five days out of the week. It works for me and could work for you. If you notice the weekly pattern forming around you, it bores you to death, and feels like a total grind, pick a day that you like, and make it that day, everyday, in your head. Then act it out. For you, who knows, maybe it’s Tuesday? For my mother and Morrissey it’s Sunday. As for me, it will be:

Saturday, Sunday, Friday, Friday, Friday, Friday, Double Friday 365 days a year.

If you do choose Friday as your day, you will expand our Friday universe exponentially. A potential world where everyone behaves as if it’s Friday. What could be better? Come your next Friday, take a good look at the joy and happiness of those around you and ask yourself if this isn’t a good idea. Perhaps it will work or perhaps not, but regardless, this will make a great topic of conversation come next double Friday, when we can all talk again.