Saturdays are Days for Exhaustion

Saturdays are days now for exhaustion, even today that I booked off from work. I had done nothing all day (well apart from make dinner, do laundry and tidy up) but I am so utterly drained of energy as I sit here writing. It is the same every Saturday, the stresses and mundanities of the working week catch up and just wipe everything out. I feel I could sleep forever. Even the thought of eating the casserole cooking in the oven is making me tired. can't even remember what time I put it in.
That old question occurs to me; how long would I sleep / stay in bed for if I never had to get up? If there was no guilt about staying in bed, no compunction to be awake, no shame at wasting time by sleeping and dozing and dreaming. Why should one of the most pleasant things in life be deemed as something to be avoided..? I would have loved to have a snooze this afternoon, but that guilt came down that I would be wasting my weekend off, and that I could put it to more constructive use.
Which I did do, but I wonder what I would have enjoyed more.
Everything feels sleepy in the living room, reminiscent of rooms which have been avoided. I don;t know why. Reminds me of being ill when you were a kid, sleeping all day on the sofa in the quilt-and-disprin comfort of tummy bugs and bad colds. At the end of the day, when the symptoms of mild malaise would worsen you would go back up to your room... and the room would be cold and uncomfortable and oddly unfriendly. Accusatory angles of the walls cleat in meaning why have you avoided me today? That's what the living room feels like anyway.
I hear the boiler go in the kitchen. Better go and check. Could have sworn I switched the water off.