Gabrielle Gassin

There’s a special moment that traverses the consciousness only once per week, when one’s Saturday is unencumbered with trivialities and Duty in various disguises. When one has a Saturday that is essentially free of obligations set by external forces, or even intrinsic forces, really, so that no obstacle is there to stain the freedom of 16 or so hours allowed, and with that time, one can then decide to fulfil so many minutes in whatever fashion one so desires, there arrives a special moment. It alights when the caffeine drunk prior to 8am attaches itself to the dopamine receptors floating around within the cerebral vicinity, and an infusion of happiness is injected into the consciousness with the realisation that the entire day is at one’s disposal, to play out exactly as one wishes. At this point, the daylight hours attributed to such a day seem just short of endless, and one may even go about morning jobs with a certain sense of laissez-faire, in the mid-section of the mind knowing that the time is there and passing, but ever so slowly. Habitually, it is then at the precise moment that one decides to impregnate the day that was so blissfully empty, with some expedition, which alters the state of all things. Once the decision is decided upon, time lapses at a speed as yet unprecedented on this day, the hours disappear and before one realises, the freedom of a free Saturday has been all but eroded, seconds are passing as per every other day, the time has been tainted by a task and taken away, and one waits in hope for another chance, on another day, in the future.