I Miss My Friend Saturday

Each week as the days pass by and begin to edge closer to Friday, I start to get excited.  I have thoughts like "Thank goodness the week is almost done and Saturday will be here".  I even start to lean forward a little when I walk, as if that will somehow get me to the weekend sooner.  Yet, Saturday always ends up being my  worst nightmare.  A day so full of endless lists and details that it makes Monday thru Friday seem like a vacation to the beach.  The pain I feel in each muscle of my body due to the mental and physical exhaustion is nothing compared to the emotional anguish caused by the sheer betrayal of it all.  How could my dear friend do this to me, again?  And, shame on me for allowing it.  I know better.  Saturdays are brutal, just a frantic day full of  endless errands and kids' sporting events, with a touch of home improvement thrown in because, why not.  If I were to be honest with myself, there is no day I look forward to more than Monday.  Aw, the sweet calm of routine and structure.  So, where does this excitement for weekends stem from?  Obviously, it must date back to my childhood and the desire to be 'free' from the demands and dramas of the classroom.  Saturday always welcomed me without fail with morning cartoons and my dad's enormous pancakes.  He would actually give it to you for free if you finished the whole thing.  Anyway, this day was my dear friend, a kind of shelter from a cruel dark world.  Then at some point, it started to turn on me and it became darkness itself.  I have known about this horrible change for many years and know I should run from it, or at least not anticipate our inevitable meeting, each week.  Yet, I must have an eternal optimist living somewhere deep inside me that hopes, if not quite believes, that the goodness that was once there may return again.