Ugh

There is such a feeling of dread that sloshes around inside me at the thought of the weekend ending. I will be listening to a nice song, and then when the singer hits a particular note of yearning, I will be reminded of work. Or the reminder could come in the middle of a TV show, for no reason at all. Even while reading a book, I could suddenly think of work if I come across any word that is related to the tasks I have awaiting me in the office.

The dread starts right at the centre of my chest, then throbs its way down to my stomach and my legs. Finally, I feel the dread in the soles of my feet, like a prickle. I have to squeeze my toes to make it go away, but it only travels back up to my chest, hiding in wait until the next reminder of work welcomes it back out again.

Will I ever reach a point in my life where I wouldn't fear Mondays anymore? I don't think so. Throughout my working adult life, it will be the thought of work that haunts me, and after retirement it will be death.

That's Saturday night optimism for you.