The double Saturday

 "It was Saturday yesterday an it will be Saturday again tomorrow."
The week end is a myth, at first it may seem you have three whole days to (blanket term) "rest", from Friday night to Sunday night, but Friday isn't a rest day, or a rest night, it's a day when you feel the entire weight of the week on you, on Thursday you say it's almost over but by the end of Friday when you can finally put down your bag of rocks and lie down, but you can't, for long, you'll have to go out, they come get you, they see the reluctance in your eyelids, and that's something to ignore easily while dangling the promise guarantied reward of a "good time". Sunday, despite beginning as the original week's end is nowadays the farthest thing from that, it is a gloomy day, a day when it should rain, a day about worrying about the impeding Monday, about doing whatever you were supposed to do Saturday, about waiting, about reluctantly shifting gears back to the useful days. The only true day of the weekend is called Saturday in English, there is nothing better than a Saturday morning, waking up, and having a choice if you want to wake up, and if you chose to, doing nothing for the rest of the day. The most rewarding thing to do is indeed to do nothing, sit or walk around and passively contemplate the bliss of inactivity with the knowledge that tomorrow there's another free day. The next day you wake up again and before the grey Sunday mood begins to creep up to your bed sheets you recall that Monday is a Holyday and that you are, in fact, about to experience another, back to back, Saturday of loafing all over again before a postponed Sunday in the mask of a Monday. That's the defining moment of the second Saturday, the first bite of your almond and chocolate Magnum on a hot Summer afternoon, the first dry headfirst dive into a neighbor's pool, that instant when you realize your favorite song is playing as background music at a loud and crowded mall. You can't help but smile and thank the world for letting you live in it.