Friday Afternoon

 Friday, 4pm. Peering out the library window. 
 
It’s bright outside. The condensation on the window and the large puddles dotting the road stand out as the only reminders that it had in fact rained all day. Students, some engrossed in conversation, others with their heads buried in their phones, walk to and fro classes. Some still have their umbrellas out, not trusting the fickle skies. But the umbrellas are constant in their duty. What kept them dry in the rain half an hour ago, now shields them from the sun’s merciless glare (the trees try, but are of no aid in this endeavor).

I put a pause to my window-gazing and pick up my phone. I intend to check an email that I have just received but end up reading a comic about horses going on strike in Regency England. I find it amusing enough to warrant a small smile. 

The scene out the window hasn’t changed much. It’s the same roll of film played on repeat, albeit with different faces. The library is quieter than it usually is at this time of day. The number of pedestrians also slowly dwindles. The silent benches, and bike racks dominate the view. The lively squirrels which usually prance around are nowhere to be seen. A strange torpor, befitting a Friday afternoon has cast itself heavily upon the campus. Not even do the trees stir, nor does the breeze. 

The squirrels appear again, seemingly out of thin air, almost as if to undermine my claim about the end-of-the-week lethargy getting to them.

As I re-read the preceding sentence, I shake my head at the terse academic prose slowly infiltrating my writing. Since when do squirrels “undermine claims”? That’s what we do - raise and raze arguments in our frenzied attempts to cobble together some semblance of a purpose. But the squirrels don’t need to do that. I suspect that they have already found an answer to life’s meaning (please, feel free to weigh in if you are a squirrel expert).

And that, I quickly realize, is what a Friday afternoon after a rather long week will do to you if you aren’t careful: leave you wishing that you were a squirrel living on a college campus with nary a worldly worry.

 
—

Reading over this lovely (if slightly unhinged) little conglomeration of words, I feel that there must be a better way to bring it to an end. But I’ve never been good at endings, really. 

Also, the unrelenting deep hum of a nearby vending machine, a grumbling stomach*, and the looming specter of a student org interview in ten minutes is a triad that is rather effective when it comes to preventing straight thought. So, this will just have to be adieu, for now. 

There might be more, hopefully, if the Muses will it.

FINIS

*You’d ask why I don't just get something from the vending machine if I’m hungry. My answer is that I don’t trust the vending machines. No, I will not elaborate further.