Daniel Aegan

It’s that magical day of the week, the one where everyone around you turns into walking calendars to remind you the week is over. “Happy Friday,” they say with their holographic smiles, their coffee- stained teeth showing.

I wish I could feel that kind of optimism. I wish I can go around announcing the day of week like it’s the cure for all your ailments. I wish I could have that kind of smug satisfaction that another work week is over and done.

Oh, and I work Saturdays too, unlike these managment drones spouting off their weekly mouth-flatulence. They never seem to remember just how unequal we are. I only walk among them. I’m not one of them.

Leading a double life sounds like a vacation.

I haven’t been burning the cliched candle at both ends. I’ve been burning just one, but I may have burned it to long. The problem with riding a manic high is that there’s always a wallowing low waiting for you once your jetpack runs out of fuel. The ride downward isn’t as fun as the one that got you so high. But you always forget about balancing until it’s too late.

And suddenly everything grows a bit dimmer. You want to be left alone. Recieving an unexpected gift makes you feel guilty. You feel responsible for the illness of others. You tell the person who wished you a happy Friday to go sell their shit to Hallmark instead of just laughing it off.

It’s lonely at the low, though you’re always surrounded. People try to help, but you only drag them down with you. And you feel bad for it. You don’t want help. You just want to ride it out till the next updraft comes to push you back into manic mode. There’s a light at the end of the tunnel, but there’s no way to tell how close or far it is.

Or maybe it’s plain and simple exhaustion after a long and trying week. Who knows?

Anyway, happy Friday.

-Daniel Aegan
9/13/19

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Want to read something I wrote? Knock yourself out.

Blood Drive by Daniel Aegan

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