Friday, at Long Last

There is no math advanced enough, no savant keen enough, no super computer super enough to calculate the amount of time it takes to shut off the alarm clock, crawl out of bed, stagger down the hall, answer nature's call, splash some water on your weary, still sleeping face, stumble into the kitchen, pour a cup of coffee, slump into a chair and sit, lifeless, in the netherworld between life and death sipping the dark elixir hoping you can survive the day, somehow.

An odd transmogrification happens somewhere between half and three quarters of a cup.  Blood starts flowing to the heart, and the brain.  Cognitive reception begins to return, and the darkness that was creeping towards the chair, predator like, wanes, slinking back to the tomb from which it sprang.

Soon, you notice the television is on, there are people talking, it is Mike Davis, the 10TV meteorologist, talking about the impending flow of cool, dry air just in time for the weekend, Hey, it's Friday, that is great news.

Wait, what is that noise, it is whistling, or humming, or maybe an off key rendition of "Beauty in the River," by the Ozark Mountain Daredevils,

"We must all stand in the water,
We must find it when we roam
It don't matter what is said
We can wake up from the dead
And roll away the stone"

And it is coming from inside the house, in fact it is coming from you, and you are tapping your foot, and drumming the butter knife on the counter as you are fixing lunch, and you are even adding the "hallelujah" and the "Lord, Lord," at the end of the final chorus.

Dancing out the door, a thought pops into your head, there is a meeting at work, and they are bringing pastries, and sweets, and the sun smiles down, and you know it is thinking, "have a nice day."  Hey, you should stop and buy a lottery ticket on the way home.