Dear Saturday: A Love Letter

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As working adults (I use that term very lightly and loosely) the only true day we own is Saturday. It’s the one day of the week that work doesn’t precede or follow. Sure, our weekend technically begins on Friday and goes through Sunday, but Friday starts off with work and Sunday instills pre-work anxiety. Saturday comes with no caveats. It just is what it is, which is the best day of the week. It’s all we really have. So, it deserves a love letter.

Dear Saturday,

Hey girl. Or guy. It doesn’t really matter what gender you are, because you please every species in the same way. And I know every rock and tree and creature has a life, has a spirit, has a name.

Saturday, I love you. Don’t let that scare you away. I’ve just never felt this strongly about something before. I’ve never met something so free, so ready for adventure and whatever life throws its way. You don’t just give opportunity–you are opportunity. Once mid-week hits, you’re the first thing I think about in the morning and the last thing I think about at night. Everything thing I do, I do with the motivation of making time speed up so I can see you, feel you, be one with you.

I love that you let me sleep in as late as I want. I love that staying in the same sweatpants I’ve been wearing for the past two months, on the couch, drinking coffee until noon is okay with you. I love it even more when I get up early and have so much more time to spend with you–who knew the gym was so dead at 10 a.m. on a you?! I love how supportive you are, how you let me do me so hard, and how you let me get all my petty errands done with enough time leftover to have a few day beers (even if I subsequently become a worthless piece of lightweight shit and have to nap it off until dinnertime). We’ll have a grand time together knowing that, when our day is over and it’s time to welcome Sunday, I know I’m going to see you really soon.

You ask nothing from me, you just give. You open yourself up to me with no boundaries, no preconceived notions. You’re all like, “Here I am. Take all of me and do what you will,” and I’m like, “OMGOK” To give all of yourself to me and ask for nothing in return is a level of selflessness I’ve never known. I never have to guess with you. I never have to doubt if you’ll be there, if you’ll deliver. Week after week, you prove yourself. Even in my longest, most tired, hungriest, and trying moments, I know you’re just days away. That thought alone keeps me going.

And oh! The memories we’ve made: pub crawls, first dates, shopping sprees, movie marathons, laundry days, pool parties, brunches. You fulfill me with so much happiness and positivity–more than I thought was ever possible given my run-ins with every other day of the week. Just when I think you’ve provided me everything I could possibly want, you always seem to scrape the bottom of the barrel for another small surprise. How can something keep me on my toes while simultaneously stay so safe and predictable? You’re a riddle wrapped in a mystery, Saturday.

I hope this letter finds you safely. I hope you know that I’m not the only one who feels this way. I’m just one of the brave ones who’s willing to be vulnerable, because that’s what you do to me, Saturday. You make me feel alive and ready to take risks.

That is, right after I manage to get out of bed after last night’s shit show.

XO and hearts forever,

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Emma G

Emma is a female with a vagina and, subsequently, often writes things other vaginas (and sometimes weiners) find super relatable. She is a 20something who loves eating, buying clothes she doesn't need, and wearing lipstick. You can find 4+ years of her rantings on her blog:

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