The weekend has this peculiar tendency to escape before I have the time to realize it. It leaves me hazy and my brain clouds over with blurry images of an estranged series of events; the familiar feeling of "fun" is all that remains. The mornings are always the worst, but perhaps they don't count as mornings when you're waking up half way through the next day. It seems strange that we so desperately live for the weekends, only to do what makes us forget them. It's a beautiful thing finding the right balance between work, play and weed. Most of us just want to be happy. We're all living in this vicious cycle, simply trained from birth to go accordingly along with the "plan" that was set up for us. Life's not as complicated as you think, in fact, it's already been set up for you.
All I can say for the weekend, however, is RIP Brain Cells.
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