To sleep, perchance to...

Ah Friday! A day imbued with the sweet trickling of the gathering weekend. Rivulets and tributaries of rest and sleep and time swell together throughout the day to begin winding their journey downriver to the ocean of next week.

Today's light has a soporific quality making the sky feel closer - like a blanket that is snuggling arpund the day. The houses seem to yawn as we pass, rubbing the specks of perpetual sleep from widows and doors. So too the passengers on the train, they sink that bit further into their seats and have their eyes in the middle distance, seeking the coming freedom.

I am bracing myself to launch into the last day of the week, and had to force myself to do some touching up on my painting this morning to avoid sleeping away the day. Touching up in this state is a dangerous decision, as the small controlled movements that are needed for this stage require mental and physical alertness, and a lapse of concentration can mean  one stroke turns to thousands as a whole segment is reworked. So really precise elements I have left  for tomorrow; but sharpness was sharpened, shadow thickened and crockery destroyed and thus the painting has progressed - and I only had a couple of "Why God, hast thou forsaken me!" moments. He hadn't, I was fine, the cat was sarcastic. The cat is always sarcastic.

I feel happy that I pushed myself to do this - especially as sleep has me in an arm lock today. Soon I will need the skeleton keys of caffeine and juice to release myself - for I fear my Houdinni impression would be futile against such a foe (a shark infested tank and a straight jacket I think I could take though).

My drowsiness, that is only momentarily diminished as I look up to greet the refreshing sky, leads me to navigate more than usual typos on my touch screen pad. Between the wonders of modern technology and a malicious, if not malevolent prediction software I have to check each line to ensure tenses, gender consistency, that accuracy of verbs and a general resistance to the Cyrillian alphabet.

my frustration is aliveated by the soft dance and gurgle of the weekend I hear. Although I do seem to need the toilet.