Raviwowr!

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There are several story ideas that seem good, fresh, and at times even revolutionary when one is in the throes of a good glass of brandy. Yet, sobered up, or even after a different drink, that idea seems a distant blob of emotion to tap into. Or simply put, that mood though easy to create in theory, in practice seems difficult to pull off: cause one shouldn’t mix drinks.

               What one is left with then is a faint echo of an idea that bores into the skull like an earworm, insistent upon being explored. A transient odour of the thought that muddles the brain, trying its best to flash the correct neurons, for smells are the most powerful memory-joggers.
But that idea had its trusses constructed on an overflow of feelings. Which was it? The emptiness in my heart? The anger in every sinew and fibre? The unbound love for my friends? If only there was an easy Ctrl+C-Ctrl+V for this.

               Perhaps it is a mixture, or perhaps statistically speaking, I can take a measured guess: a combination of WTF outrage, cynicism, and a dollop of existential futility. That is a good mélange.
Ah! There it is: unspooling slowly, one end of the thread unwinding its way through the synapses. Lighting the correct Nissl granules. My mental image grasps it and the entire thought process wraps around me, consuming me inside.

               FRIYAY! For some reason, that word pisses me off. What is the point? What is the need? Just why?

               You’re already on Instagram. Vanity, pride, a display of actions and lifestyle choices designed to boost self-esteem by generating envy in others. You’re already massacring privacy at the altar of hearts. Why do you chant “Friyay” as “Amen”? And why “Friyay”? Why not “Thursyay”? It is a bloody random cycle! Why do you need to display those kitschy letters on your post telling everybody that your “Yay” is a Friday?

Why would you buy into the work-week myth?
Why would you want to be the rat?
The rat in the rat-race you are desperately denying being a part of.
Friyay is your cheese.
Friyay is the cheese you crave after running through the capitalist cycle.
Friyay is the sweet chocolate that convinces you that the construct is the goal, the system is enjoyable.
Why would you otherwise randomly assign abstracts to a day?
Monday: Tiring, Wednesday: Getting Through
Friyay is the reward.
Friyay is the drug that convinces your mind to associate a random collection of 1440 minutes with an emotion.
Friyay is your Blue Pill.

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