I have long theorized that the last day of the week, Saturday, and the first day of the week, Sunday, exist in a different temporal space than the other 5 days do. Because of this, my theory goes, the weekend flies back, as it must; it has no other choice but to do so. It's also why the week days proceed at the rate of eroding stone.
You can test this for yourself. Take a sick day sometime, naturally, when you are ill enough to justify taking a day off from your myriad labours, of course. Unless you are unconscious, in the grim clutches of whatever malady has gripped you in its icy talons, you will find the day to be long. It will undulate before you like a drunken python. Daytime television shows will punish you for missing a day from work. How can they suck so much? You wind up counting the number of times Seamus O'Regan says the word "amazing". That can be a highlight for you, and you'll be grateful for it.
At long last, it will be noon time, and The View will be on. The women on that fine program all yell over each other, and if you have a headache it will only be intensified by the aural pollution emanating from these harpies. Dr. Oz comes on after that, and there's another fine program for you to enjoy as you ralph into the toilet. You will wonder if you have been physically ill as a natural consequence of being off sick, or if Dr. Oz drove you to puke your guts out just because he's on the screen.
I won't go on about this. The day will last for what seems a week. You will pray to be feeling well enough to return to work tomorrow.
It doesn't matter how sick you are. The week days take forever to get through whether you are at work or at home; whether you are on vacation in some exotic environment or shoveling out your septic tank. It doesn't matter what you're doing, It is a simple matter of physics, and we can't fight it.
The sooner you accept it, the happier you'll be.
Bevboy says so.