weekends
Those spans of Christian-time we call “weekends”, stretching from short, shrift Fridays to long lazy Sundays, seldom warrants thinking about; somehow or rather, you savour it, it savours you. Which leaves the remaining four days. Thursdays are lubricated by a reverse spillage from the anticipated Friday. Best described as en-lulled Thursdays. Wednesdays are threshold days, obviously. Mondays are boring, beginning days.
I don’t have any issues with its personality; indeed, I find Monday to be the poster child of the emo generation. However, just to confess: for the first time in a while, I have a genuine conflict of interest this Monday, one that will test - in a grimace inducing way - my entire value system.
The confessional aspect is that I am about to sacrifice my Monday night football (”soccer”) game, 120 blood-and-thunder minutes of the Beautiful Game (with its attendant adrenaline rush) for 129 minutes of “a Macedonia / Germany / Italy / Bulgaria / Spain” cinematic collaboration called Shadows.
It hardly seems fair.
