Carpe Diem, Motherf***er

You know that song "I Don't Like Mondays"? Yeah, well, I don't like Saturdays and I'm going to shoot shoot shoot the whole day down. And if you don't like that, well....too bad, Tootsie.

As a general rule, Saturdays mostly suck for me. I'm usually out late on Friday nights, either french kissing the demon alcohol or ingesting some sort of food that I'll probably regret in the morning. Like, for instance, last night's late night french fries and beer that occured shortly after devouring the beef/sushi/sake trifecta (which, on its own, probably would've put me over the edge.) So, anyway, I get home later than I wish on Friday nights, I have a restless sleep for a few frustrating hours, and then I wake up at 6am to face my Saturday morning. Before even opening my eyes, I already regret the previous nights activities, without fail. Inevitably my body is tired, my stomach is queasy and it feels like somebody somehow managed to thwack that point right behind my eyes a few times with a ballpeen hammer. Regardless, I stumble out of bed, shove some oatmeal down my throat and get ready to go biking.

And that's the good part of the day!

After my stomach settles and I stop sweating alcohol, my Saturday morning bike rides usually turn into a wonderful experience. It is one of the true highlights of my weekend. Every Saturday I cruise up the coast, the mountains jutting up into the sky on my right side and the sprawling serenity of the Pacific Ocean flooding the horizon on my left. On lucky days like today, the dolphin are gliding up the coast, playfully jumping out of the water as if they were as excited to be out on a Saturday morning as I. Inevitably, though, the ride must end and the sucky part of the day begins.

I start getting angry every Saturday morning at 11am and the anger compounds over the hours until it fully encompasses my being and completely ruins my Saturday night. Aside from cramming the entire weeks errands into 2 hours of a bumper-to-bumper, stupid driver-filled nightmare, my entire day is spent inside the confines of my lonely, lonely abode. Saturday, you see, is finance day for me. And I HATE finance day with a passion. I'm not a numbers guy; I never wanted to be an accountant. My idea of a "fun time" is pretty much doing anything except spending the Saturday reviewing excel spread sheets. Yet I excel every Saturday, all day. And I don't mean "excel" in the good sense. I spend my Saturday reviewing finances for the record company, preparing billing, analyzing accounts receivable and feeling my blood pressure rise at the sight of the accounts payable. If I'm lucky, I may even spend two hours paying my personal bills. All the time, I look at the blue sky and beautiful sunshine out my window, and hear the people laughing and playing as if it were actually a wonderful day. Screw them. I have no patience for happy people on Saturday afternoons.

By about 3:00 I'm usually angry enough to kill anybody who even looks my way. I start swearing at the couples happily walking by my window. I spontaneously yell profanities at nobody, and intermittently curse my computer for destroying my life. "Fuck you, you goddam piece of shit computer," I have been known to scream, as I glare maniacally at the helpless laptop. "GET ME THE HELL OUT OF HERE! I FUCKING HATE THIS!" I wail like a prisoner of war, trapped in my own personal hell.

By 6:00 I'm ready to break. The proverbial silicon chip inside my head has switched to overload. Enough is enough. I pile the papers into the corner of the room, violently throw unpaid bills across the desk and slam down the cover of my laptop, doing everything in my power to not throw it out the window.

Inevitably I find some social function to do on Saturday nights, but I'm usually too emotionally drained to actually have fun. Tonight, Catherine and I are going to a party at my friend Paul's house. Paul is a comedy writer and all his comedy writing friends will be there, all being funny. I've spent the past five hours perparing excel documents for my finance team. I have no patience for funny.

But tomorrow is Sunday, the day of rest. Sunday is the true beginning of my weekend; it is a wonderful day for me. I seize the day on Sundays. Carpe Sunday. And so by the time Monday morning roles around, I'm finally rested and relaxed and eased into the week. I like Mondays too. It means I'm still far far away from another frustrating Saturday ruining my weekend.