In college, Fridays were a breeze. When I would go to class, if I even had Friday classes, then I had about 55 minutes of hangover hell to suffer through and then it was either back to bed or out to celebrate, either way, I rejoiced the instant liberation and freedom that is perfectly unique to the commencement of the weekend.
Even now, the working girl that I am, I usually look forward to Fridays. Friday mornings I wake up with a little pep in my step, a little extra spring in my bonnet (is that a really saying? And is that Spring as in the season or spring as in the metal tool?). Friday comes around with the knowledge that in mere hours (okay more like 10, but we'll call those mere) it is the weekend and I am free, free at last.
Not today. Today is likely to be a long day. While I might normally spend my Fridays writing inane blog entries (such as this one), watching Lost on ABC.com, or compiling lists in my head of all the fascinating and stimulating activities I intend to do over the weekend, today I am one of two assistants in the office, providing honed assisting skills to a total of 9 managers/agents/producers/megalomaniacs. The thing I've noticed about Hollywood is that at a certain point, a person working in this town crosses the line of being an aggressive superstar assistant to becoming and aggressive and completely dependent boss. People entirely capable of directing and maintaining their own lives and their bosses' lives are suddenly at a complete loss as to how to book an airplane flight or answer their own phone. Sure it's frustrating, but more than that it is fascinating. At what point does this switchover take place? One day I will be entirely dependent on someone else to keep track of my life for me? I hope not.
Anyway, I seem to have a long day of answering phones and running around the office ahead of me. But then it's 7 pm and it's the weekend, which means Battlestar Galactica, the Saturday farmers' market, the Kentucky Derby, the beach, book group, and best of all--freedom.
1 comment:
i think it's spring like pep. ha, i also think "spring in my bonnet" is not a real expression? maybe we southerners just aren't familiar with said lingo. like my dad always says, "we're fixin to find out."
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