On fluff, and the opposite of paraskavedekatriaphobia

It’s Friday. Indeed. As much as I generally bemoan – nay, fear and loathe – the whole genus of office culture, I cannot help but be swept away in the contagious euphoria that comes with a good, solid Friday. I appreciate the little things. I appreciate being able to wear jeans to work. I appreciate knowing that I can go home tonight and get fantastically sloshed and not worry about waking up at 5 tomorrow morning. Bliss.

I don’t have a thing going on this weekend. Not a one. I may be productive and clean my house, go for a run, or a bike ride, change the wiper blades on my car, organize the pile of mail collecting dust by the front door. I may. Probably not, though. I will probably bankrupt my DVR, slog through yet another disc of Battlestar Galactica, and if I’m feeling really ambitious, play Assassin’s Creed 2.

I might even call someone and attempt to be social. Beer and board games! Or beer and … whatever! I don’t know. It’s 1:30 in the afternoon on a Friday and the possibilities are still endless.

Right. Exactly. Fuck gravitas.