Saturdays are the worst. If Friday was a mad, skin-saving-scramble, witnessing an innocent friend’s execution, (some things human begins are not equipped to see) then Saturday was wandering aimlessly, regrets, and deep, gut-doubt as reality sets in. Friday is the death of a loved one; Saturday is years living without them. Friday is the doctor saying you have cancer; Saturday is chemo, radiation, nausea, and wondering if they got it all. Friday is the pink slip in your inbox; Saturday is hundred’s of resumes sent while hope and the savings account sink. At least Friday has adrenalin; Saturday has far too much time to regret and for the little committees in my head to accuse me. Yes, Saturdays are the worst of all. But, ….
