The week is tough, it’s know fact of life.

Monday is terrifying, the desire to get out of bed to the rhythm of the alarm clock is equal to the desire of Anna Wintour to dress Disegual: only if beaten with a club.

On Tuesday there’s a sense of loss similar to when you get your period two days early while you’re at a zumba class.

Wednesday is the worst for me, during a normal college week. It’s the halfway mark that feels something like being lost in the middle of the ocean.

Thursday is merely endured with the always present myth of the Holy Friday approaching ,not quickly enough but still, similar to knowing that Mango is due to have a 70% sale the next day.

Friday is the light at the end of the tunnel, the road downhill, the last hairs that await to be waxed: the same feeling that pushed Italian nun Suor Cristina Scuccia to leave her order while exclaiming «You know what? I’m going to X-Factor!».