End of Days

From an unnamed production office for an undisclosed television show in an address-withheld building in LA where the elevators are shockingly slow...

I keep thinking that today is Friday.  Let me stop you here- It's not.  The reason that I think that it's Friday, however, is the best reason to think that it's Friday, which is that I don't have work tomorrow.

But here's the thing about the last work day of the week be it Thursday or Friday or- for one glorious Thanksgiving week in November- Wednesday:  There is actually absolutely nothing to do.  Nothing.  I show up and wait around for the one person responsible for getting our show ready to air to get our show ready to air, and then I go home.  It sounds kind of glamorous, I'm sure, looking at everyone I've ever known's Facebook pictures, watching an hour of the worst movie ever called "Black Cougar" that is a sort of modern day Pinocchio revenge tale with my coworkers because some weirdo sent it to our office, and seeing how long I can wait to go into the break room to take a free bagel (it's ten minutes, that's how long).  But, while it is pleasant to not have anything to do at the office, I would so much rather be at home with nothing to do.  Or on the beach with nothing to do.  Or maybe even asleep.  Oh, the simple dreams of someone who hates their job...