Life is cruel.

My perfect weekend has evaporated into nothingness as usual with the arrival of another monday.  I hate this feeling.  It's one of those days when it seems like the world is going to have to explode really soon because I can't possibly keep this up.  MONDAY! AGAIN, ALREADY!  Who wants to think about that?

Really though, don't you think that weekends are some kind of intermediary existence in which one is fated to always dread the next week while feeling ridiculous for not taking advantage of freedom while it lasts?  I have so much to be happy about, but it's difficult.  Maybe this is what it means to be human.