That Friday Feeling. Sort of.

Everybody who works a regular 9-5 Monday-Friday week gets something approximately close to this feeling.

You're pleased you've made it through the week, and it's Saturday tomorrow. Thank god.

But not for me. You see, I'm a bit obsessive about my weekends.

I'm trapped in the working week until 5pm Friday. After which point, I'm happy as Larry. I'm pleased it's Friday, and that I've got that whole weekend ahead of me. However, somewhere in the back of my subconscious, I can feel it slipping away from me, hour by hour, minute by minute. Second by second.

By Saturday morning, I'm concerned I only have two days of my weekend left. By Saturday night, I know I've already lost most of my weekend. By Sunday, I'm slightly irritable at the fact that I have less than 24 hours before returning to work.

Everybody enjoys spare time, but I just seem to spend my lift counting it down.

Help!

Pre-empting the alarm clock

Routine strikes again.

For the last two days, I've been unable to stop what's happening to me.

During a routine of rising during the weekdays at 6am, I've started to pre-empt my alarm. It goes off at 6am. I am waking up every morning at three minutes to six! How rubbish is that?!

I have no control over the fact that my three minutes of sleep are being stolen from me by a body clock that's three minutes fast!

What happens when I hit daylight savings time again? Will I be waking up at 5am?

I reserve the right to blog about things more than once if they really irritate me.

Early mornings

We're supposed to get used to them, are we?

I can't say I am. Some people wake up automatically at some stupid hour, and get ready for work without a problem.

I struggle to get up at 6am, and have struggled every day for the last eight months. Granted, the dark months of Winter do nothing to assist your work ethic and drive for life, but struggling as much as I do surely can't be right.

Aren't we supposed to have body clocks? Aren't they supposed to magically adjust thanks to routine?

I am twenty-three years old at time of publishing, and to this day if I don't get to bed at ten o'clock, waking up at six in the morning is an uphill battle of death, where the darkness is pinning you to the sheets.

Your brain starts thinking of methods of excusing you from work. Your dreams alter themselves and terraform into a world where having an alarm clock beeping at you in the background is a perfectly normal sound and that you can ignore it and carry on with whatever your mind has in store for you.

I hate alarm clocks because they wake me up, and they do it in the most disturbing fashion. No soft hands across your face asking you to "rise and shine". Oh no. WAKE UP YOU SON OF A BITCH. WAKE UP YOU SON OF A BITCH.

Harsh.

I use an alarm clock radio instead of an alarm clock. This means that instead of hating the beeping sound that your average alarm clock makes, I now hate and dread the sound of the DJ that's on at that particular time.

Dick and Dom have just taken the post for the early Friday morning BBC Radio 1 slot.

Joy.