My weeks end on Friday. Why, you ask? Cause Friday afternoons are my heaven. I come home from school, sit down, and…well, that’s about it. And I don’t get up until ten-thirty, at which point I walk to the kitchen, make myself a milkshake and sit back down. After that, I don’t move again until I go to sleep. Heaven. Absolutely the perfect way to end a week.
But on Saturday morning, my life decides to restart, and I roll out of bed, wolf down a waffle or something, then roll on down to tennis, where I usually play terribly. Sometimes, in the middle of my lesson, I get a drink of water and tell myself, “Ben, you’re gonna start playing well now. Ignore your burning muscles. Just go back out there, and at least run somewhere near to the ball.” And I don’t know if it’s the hydration or the positive attitude, but after my little self-pep-talks, I pick my tired body off of the ground, get back out there, and play…twice as bad as before. The thing I think every time I’m in the car on the way home from one of those Saturday morning lessons is “Why didn’t you go to sleep at eight?”
When I get home, I do homework, which is due on Monday, and on Monday afternoon I do homework due Tuesday, and on Tuesday afternoon…I think you get the point. Finally, Friday rolls around.
11:30 PM – “Damn it.”