My time is like a piece of wax, that's fallen on back of a termite ... that's choking on a splinter

How is it :

That working weeks drag on as interminably as a visit to the dentist whereas weekends disappear quicker than a plate of Black forest gateau at chocoholic convention?

That the truly depressing (for me) period between mid-December to mid-March seems like a soul destroying traipse through the ages of time whereas the the days from May through to October feel like the minutes of the first night spent with a new lover ?

That Mondays feel ten times longer than Fridays ? Where do those extra minutes come from exactly ? More to the point, who's billing me for them ?

Are there things going on that we're not telling me about ?
Is it the period that we live in ?
Is it just me?

Or ...

... is it the shoes !?!

Tempus fugit