Ah, the eternal question. You'd think that after a whole week of toiling, we'd have some time to relax. But no. The weekend is just out of reach, taunting us like a cruel mistress.
It's not like we're not trying. We're doing all the things we're supposed to do: crossing off tasks, checking our to-do lists, and pretending to be productive. But somehow, someway, the hours tick by like sand in a glass, and before we know it, it's Friday... again.
So, why are we here? Are we masochists? Do we enjoy being constantly on the clock, our lives a never-ending cycle of meetings and deadlines? Or is it just that we're secretly all just a bunch of workaholics who need to be told when to work?