Dear Diary: Friday Night

Its Friday, something changes and everyone celebrates because there is no work tomorrow, or school. pexels-photo-838673.jpeg

I definitely was doing something wrong when I got a Saturday job, and then two Saturday jobs. It sort of difficult to remember those first 13 years, what was it like to think great Friday the weekend is mine, I don’t think it ever was. When I wasn’t working, I was working caring like many children do, then I was working, then I was an adult.

Then, somehow, the weekend things changed, but they never felt restful, they were the time I paid back for everything I had taken during the week with work and everything else I did. Although at the time I was somewhat unsure what it was  I took that needed to be paid off, now I know, I had taken nothing, was paying off nothing, and I had not selfishly anything at all.

Friday, Saturday, the days of the week were just days; now I do want to get drunk, and I do want to forget. I want to forget that where there was once the pressure and the overwhelming relentlessness, there is nothing, just space, just void.

Even being abused meant I had a purpose, a punchbag hangs for a reason.

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