All day yesterday, Thursday, people I spoke to or emailed with said, "Have a nice weekend." While I appreciated such a kind thought, I didn't understand it. Is not Friday the day you are supposed to wish happy weekending on? So then it hit me that fewer people work on Fridays than ever before. Friday is almost as dead an email day as Saturday, too.

When I worked day jobs, I, too did not usually work Fridays, and this always cheesed off my co-workers, who felt compelled to work five days a week. Fridays were my everything else days, though, so it wouldn't be right to say I did nothing. But I was free and on my own terms.

At any rate, here it is Friday and I am exhausted. I can barely force myself to sit here and write this entry, but I will at least feel I did something if I do so.

I am sure that my fatigue is very different from, say, my mother's husband who works in construction, or even MY husband, who deals with people and their problems all day. But don't let anyone tell you that writing isn't work. I am BEAT. I worked hard this week, and I got a lot done. The problem with writing is that you're never really done, and as a self-employed freelancer, that's especially true.

To make things more complicated, my beloved swimming has led to an excruciating muscle spasm that feels caught somewhere below my sternum but radiates in almost every direction. SO every way that I can move hurts. I'm seeing a chiropractor tomorrow, but I think this, combined with the heat and the working has made me want to lay my head down and just quit. Just go to sleep or drift off into a doze, you know what I mean?

Problem is, my punitive superego is having none of that. So instead I'm just sitting here staring at the computer screen, clicking around to different sites, waiting for something.

JPR