The Impending Monday

So this is what it feels like.

When tiny chores get piled up for the last two days of the week. When despite two clear days, you can’t seem to get even one chore done. When the two clear days blur and the Friday evening merges into the Saturday morning that in turns creeps into the Sunday; all without you realizing that it has happened. When before you know, the weekend is over. When the gloominess of the impending work week that you’d have to spend trapped in office sets in. When you miss your days as a free bird where you were the master of your time and the concept of work week was alien to you. When you start craving for that time as the free bird to come back; even if it meant financial insecurity. When the financial security starts feeling like a chain around your ankles and life looks boring. When you start questioning the meaning of life. When you watch Steve Jobs talk about life again and again. And when Steve says the think about looking into the mirror, you think of the ticking time bomb. When you look for reasons to clock in mandatory nine hours and try to diffuse that time bomb; even if none of those nine was spent on any actual work. When by the first hour itself, you start comparing yourself to other rats in the race. When the futility of it all hits you in the face and you cant comprehend why are the other rats so oblivious to misery of a financially secure life. When you forget the futility bit because the fancy paycheck that you get allows you to go to fancy restaurants and afford things that you never could. When you do buy those things, it dawns on you that you have no time to enjoy those things because you don’t have the time. When you suddenly have to go sleep by 9 on Sunday night because you dont want to be late to work the next day. Oh when you dread things like getting in late. When the little question from the poor administrative office feels like a nag from an old, sore wife. When the entire experience feels like dragging a dead relationship because you don’t want to let go; hell, you can’t let go. When the entire thing makes you depressed about it. When the fogs of depression dont let you see a way out. And when the fog lifts, you realize that life’s reduced to staring at the clock, hoping it would go faster; but the torturous clock actually ticks slower than it ought to and no one can help. When you suddenly think that may be, just may be, if you believed in God, may be He would have have helped the clock go faster. When you realize that others that believe in God are faring no better. When you see those God-fearing zombies all around you, happily walking into the doors of slavery. When you can’t understand what makes the other slaves tick and so excited about the mundane days ahead for the rest of their lives. When the gloom of the predictable eventually sets in. When you get used to it. When you become a part of the crowd rather than screaming. When, when, those jokes, those stories, those anecdotes, those cartoons about perils of Monday mornings start to make sense. When you are.. you are…