Secretly, fridays have always been the days I hated the most.

I take fridays as I take airplanes and trains: a suffocating place in time where you are compelled to experience and wonder about existence.

For me, what happens in a Friday night is the logical conclusion, or symbolic representation, of one's experience of life.

And my logical conclusion had mostly been one of an alienating and unescapable boredom and loneliness.

The reason was simple. Alhough epicurean, I always took joissance as a fundamental value in my life. Each drop of sweat, each email sent, these were all for the expectation of never-ending pleasure and consumption.

It was unavoidable: on fridays, I had to find enjoyment and pleasure; I had to justify the sweat and reassure joissance as the fundamental value of life.

I could never do it.

Okay, perhaps once.

Still, today is strange - one I never experienced, I had to document it.

I feel lonely, maybe melancholic, but there's no suffocating alienation screaming down the throats of existence.

Perhaps, I'm getting old, and old people just like to sleep.

Perhaps, I'm experiencing something real, plastics would likely evaporate.

Perhaps, I'm stronger, or wiser, or more patient.

Regardless, I'm finally finding the right use of my sweat.

Regardless, today is a happy day.

It is a happy day because it's strange.

It's strange because this friday is just another day.