in love

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I am in love. And I am not in love. I fall head over heels in love and burst with happiness. And then, so quickly, so violently, my heart is broken into a thousand pieces and any love that is left ebbs away. Every week. Every. Blasted. Week. Oh, Weekend, how I love thee. Oh, Working Week, how I love thee not. If my working week were colours it would be shades of grey with patches of black. Occasionally a burst of vibrant pink or purple would appear, but these colours would be shortlived. If it were furniture, my working week would be dirty sagging settees, a heavily scuffed 1980s black display cabinet and a seventeen year old fridge full of mouldy tomatoes. If it were alcohol it would be Strongbow or Lambrusco or some other cheap liquid from the convenience store on the corner, the one which sells the cheap cigarettes from Algeria under the counter and smells of cat pee. In complete contrast, is the love of my life, Weekend. If my weekend were a colour it would be a calming emerald teal, with splashes of vibrant pink or purple, and occasional swatches of bright blue and lavender. If it were furniture it would be a magnificent bed with the most luxurious sheets, a vintage lampstand with the quirkiest lampshade and a whole room filled with a library style, floor to ceiling bookcase, complete with ladder and soft-yet-firm armchairs for lounging in. Alcohol? Cocktails, of course. Purple Rain, Strawberry Daiquiri or Woo Woo, if you please. Maybe even the sophistication of an Espresso Martini. My love is strong right now, as the bus takes me home for a weekend of relaxation and long lie-ins. So heavenly. So blissful. Happy weekends, people!