A Monologue on my Notebook

Saturday mornings and Sunday afternoons are perhaps the epitome of my week. The very reason that I’m not yoked by duties for the day brightens my Saturday more than anything. The very fact I do not have to engrave a smile on my face or act amiably towards anyone highlights the day. The freedom of doing anything, literally anything, is the utmost satisfaction. I can do something which I think is good rather than being dictated by someone that I should do this or that without being reminded of the consequences of my actions. Oh, the tale of freedom we tell ourselves! None of us are free, indeed. But for once in a week, a brighter morning, despite whatever the weather may look, the morning of freedom strikes. Of the 168 hours of the week, the few hours of the morning tend to dictate my leisure time.

Since I’m on the discourse of freedom, I do not wish to bound the day with a schedule or strict planning. But writing, reading, or even sleeping till the wake of the day is proved to make the day more than productive. Creating the world of imagination, and escaping reality for mere hours would certainly remedy the sour taste, rather a state of my life for once.

But if the weekend’s few hours tend to depict the brief summary of my week, then, I should mention the dreariness of Sunday afternoons. “Time flies when you are having a good time”, they say. The quality time I spent starting from Saturday morning till the very end of a week and beginning of another, marks to be the shortest period. All of a sudden, wherever I’m suited at the moment, it dawns on me the horror of facing, yet, another similar week. The fake smiles, uncontrolled agreeableness, escaping reality by “not living” but distracting oneself, and so many others follow like the dominos effect. And everything comes together like puzzle pieces. The cycle comes back! The coming and going like a machine of the sort would be once again attained. For the most part, when I realize that I’m not doing it for myself, I keep discussing it with my notebook. I cannot make a sound about this, anyway. But my notebook shall take all the screaming silences I endure.

And, just like that, another week begins! Another Monday arrives with all the baggage it carries.