We can do a bit of blaming: the proliferation of devices means we're always at work, always on call, always available. Physically leaving the office isn't a declaration of being off work anymore; your office is in your bag or pocket.

We know that people who work without breaks get tired, introduce errors, get sick and miss out on life. Make no mistake: those staff room hammocks are designed to keep you in them on the weekend.

Sunday blues often hit because the weekend was only about shopping and chores. If you can clear up some of that domestic detritus on weeknights, you might reclaim some time for what matters. Maybe the laundry can wait until Monday.

When we don't get that escape from our work selves, I think we feel its absence on a deep, almost primal level. Leisure is uncommodified, unoccupied time where we get to be truly free, so feeling bad about missing the weekend isn't just, "Damn, I didn't make it to the mall!" It's a profound loss.

For me, writing started as pleasure that became professionalized, so my relationship to it is a bit sullied. I'm working it out.

There's something about the weekend, even for non-religious people, that feels sacred, so a violation of that sanctified time is almost a betrayal, something blasphemous. The sabbath is the edict to break from work. It was God's call-out to the slave to protect an identity beyond labourer - no production and consumption, just one day a week.

Now we have a gig economy where many people are holding down several jobs at once. The whole concept of a 40-hour week makes people under 30 laugh.