Ahhh, Friday. You sweet, sweet day of the week. None of the other days seem to have your glamor; your attraction; your mystery.
Sure, Monday comes with so much promise. The start of a new week that offers potential for accomplishment. All of the items on my “to do” list that will get addressed. Mountains climbed; missions accomplished. But dear Friday, when I glimpse you from that distance (from Monday), you beckon so alluringly. Don’t fret. I see you back there waiting patiently. I’ll be with you soon.
Tuesday arrives. It holds an awkward position in my relationship with Friday. Tuesday is barely any closer to you than Monday, and not nearly as close to you as Wednesday.
Wednesday is a time of reassessment. On this hill, this highest point of the week, I can see you, Friday, with all of your seductive charm. A promise of things to come, but also a warning that you will be arriving before I know it. So Wednesday becomes a time to realistically determine what can get done this week, and what must be punted until the week resets itself on Monday. Time to dig in, double-down and forge on. There are things to do and they must get done. And the reward (other than the reward of knocking things off my list) will be that I’ll get to see my fair Friday when the work is completed.
Thursday comes and though I may try to focus on the work at hand, it becomes harder to ignore you. I start to catch whiffs of your tantalizing scent. You whisper my name in the hallways. I hear you, my dear friend. Patience. I’m coming. I promise. Almost there.
And then, praise God, you are here. Right beside me. Together once more. I wear my jeans to work in your honor. A tipping of my hat to you, letting everyone know that it is Friday – and all is once again right with the world. Together, you and I make plans for the weekend. The fun we’ll have. The things we’ll do. The friends we’ll see. Bless you Friday for showing up without fail each week. There are few friends truer than you, and for that I will be eternally grateful.