Existential dread on a Friday afternoon
It’s Friday. A day like any other but in this case there’s two days following it which are ostensibly more enjoyable than the four preceding it and therefore it’s cause for a weekly injection of excitement.
In two days time, Sunday night will become the antithesis of this; where the excitement of the possibilities in the next two days are replaced by the depression brought on by the certainties of the next four.
I find it funny that we, as a society, only bothered naming seven of the days, as if to name any more might be a little too overwhelming and that we’d all fall into pit of despair once we realised the enormity and endlessness of time.
No, far better instead to stop at seven days and then just repeat the process, subsequently providing a little spike of excitement on that Friday in order to keep everyone’s mind off the fact that this will go on forever and ultimately none of this means anything.
We need that.
As a species, as Human Beings, we need parameters; a mental playing field with some goal posts set up in order to better quantify, understand and ultimately reconcile this incredibly vast and inconsequential existence. Thank God it’s Friday!, they’ll say, because if instead it was just ‘Day 173,533’ life would suddenly feel a little more overwhelming. Far better to instead just replay the tape every seven days and package existence up into lovely manageable bite-sized pieces. Then, package those up as well, four or so into every month and then watch as they all fit snugly into a year; boxes of time inside bigger boxes, packed into a decade and then another one, and one after that and suddenly you’re 33 and while you’ve failed to achieve much of a career or a meaningful relationship or even afford a house, at least you can have a little dose of dopamine as you wake up and realise that this is the last of those five days before those two marginally more interesting days nestled deep within your carefully constructed Matryoshka boxes of time.