STING: "Seven Days"

My words are overdue. They got lost in the jam of everyday life, stuck in the elevator of some high-rise buildings, where careers start and end. Some climb the corporate ladder, while others fall. Some take the escalator, they move upwards or downwards, and yet stand still. Lack of action is an action on its own. You can choose not to hit back, when you are hit. You can choose not to decide, when you are expected to decide. You can choose not to speak a word, when you are spoken to. Silence can be a deafening signal.

We live our lives in terms of weeks. Age or occupation does not matter. Children start the school on Mondays; working people go back to work after the weekend; and even the retired distinguish between weekdays and weekend days. Monday blues, Thanks-God-It's-Friday and what else more. Surely, the weekends do not fall on Saturdays and Sundays in any part of the world, but still societies seem to be organised based on a seven-day cycle. I could Google for the reasons behind this simple observation, but who needs answers when questions are so much more interesting. It’s Sunday, I yawn like a lazy cat in the afternoon heat. A new week awaits, but would a cat care?