Thank Gaia (the Earth Mother) It’s Friday!

by DominoCortez


I’ve again reached the point in the work week where I’ve stripped off any guilt for not being productive. Its Friday. I don’t consider myself the laziest employee on the planet but I’m sure as hell not a go getter.  When I woke up this morning I knew that I would try to get through the day doing the least amount of work possible.  To be clear, I will exert more energy to get out of doing my assigned tasks than it would require to just do them. Does this make sense? No, but its fucking Friday!

Ok, so I imagine just about everyone feels the same way I do but here is where it gets truly shitty. As I’m a younger guy and pretty low on the corporate totem pole I get stuck at work on Fridays far longer than the rest of the people I work with. The boss is taking off at 2 and the soulless bastards at corporate probably called it a week after Tuesday.  Now I’m not an expert on organizational management but I would think that this might be the cause for my lack of motivation. Well, that and the shitty pay and mind numbing monotony.

I’m no stranger to knocking a few back on work nights but I try to take it easy, no way I’m moving back in with my parents for being unemployed. My weekly drinking habits are like a pot of water on the stove, the bubbles will represent my drunkenness. Early on in the week I’m warming up but only a bubble or two rises to the top. By Thursday it’s a full on bubbling and on Friday and Saturday the pot is boiling over. This is what work does to you; it makes you a complete alcoholic on the days you have off.  The problem here is going to work on Friday is like taking the pot off the burner right before you throw the noodles in.

So here I am, writing a blog post on company time. The hardest decisions I’m going to make today involve what I’m going to eat for lunch and which flash game deserves my attention after the boss man leaves. My only solace is the thought of blacking out tonight at a bar and then eating pizza rolls on my couch tomorrow.  It’s depressing writing that, but it needs to be said because working for a living IS depressing. Fortunately, I won’t be able to feel depressed (or anything else for that matter) for the next two days while I murder my lungs and liver.

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