The very first line of the Easybeats’ classic hit “Friday On My Mind” pretty much says it all: Monday morning has little to recommend it. And as Zoe Thomson explains, if you’re fighting a mental illness, “little” dwindles to imperceptibility:
The alarm goes off and I’m tossing and turning, feeling weighted by the duvet but also uncomfortable, not feeling well rested in the slightest. “5 more minutes” I think to myself, a pit of dread sitting nervously in my stomach, but why? It’s another day. I don’t snooze my alarm — I stop it. I hope that I sleep in far too late and I have no choice but to jump out of bed and get out the door. I haven’t got it in me today, just like every other day. The dread fills my stomach until I can no longer only acknowledge it — it’s the only thing I can think about. I feel sick. I feel ill. Maybe I could use that? No, I can’t. I feel so groggy and not very well put together and I wonder how I’m going to do this for another 5 days.
My own issues are more or less out in the open, so you probably won’t be too surprised to hear that my own Monday-morning dread begins about 9 pm Sunday. Bedtime is still two hours away, and I wonder how much, if any, sleep I’m going to get during the seven and a half hours allotted. I’m certainly wide awake that Sunday evening. (The weekly roundup of strange search-engine queries? I did that early Sunday afternoon. Maybe even late Saturday night.) Somehow, I’ve managed to sleep through the alarm only two or three times in the past year. I remember that my work week has shrunk by about five hours since then; and then I recall that what I really want is to have it shrink by about five days. But that’s not happening any time soon.
In fact, the weirdest aspect of all this is that the pertinent song by The Cure is decidedly happier in tone, at least at the beginning:
And here we are, somehow, at Friday, looking forward to the weekend.