My 30 day-week, 31 when I’m lucky.

It’s one of those weeks.

The kind of week that blends into itself and with every week that preceded and those to come. That’s how you end up in November, wondering where August, September and October went.

It’s all a big, swirly ice cream sundae that you were looking forward to. It was there, waiting for you to lock your whetted lips around its creaminess. You got up to grab a spoon, and by the time you came back it had melted down to a sticky, marbled mess.

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That’s what my months feel like. That’s what this week feels like. I still try and keep track of the days. Tomorrow, I know for a fact, is Wednesday, for example.

Simon & Garfunkel– Wednesday Morning 3am

I hope to relive the days when weekend pandemonium was held back by the sole hurdle of a Friday. I never really ‘got’ all those Friday jokes at school by the way…What’s Damian the Dragon’s favourite day? Fry day…oh dear.

The Easybeats– Friday on my mind

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