It’s a Thursday evening. Thursday is an odd day. Out in the real world, there was even a brief moment when Thursday appeared to be on the verge of a breakthrough when people proclaimed it as “the new Friday.”

Of course, it could never last, and I believe that the fifth day of the week has been relegated to its usual anticipatory position as the weekend’s fluffer.

Having said all of that, there are still places where Thursday rules — for example in our world. For reasons I’ve never quite understood, Thursday is when collegiate types go out to play.

There’s Senior Pub Night — where children go out searching for candy (or something like that), the Nuthouse is packed full of kids looking to capitalize on that “not-quite-Friday” feeling and the 750 has student night.

The latter is responsible for this column. As I write I’m propping up the bar in the GCC, listening to a Beatles cover band and trying to figure out why I don’t feel guilty in sacking Thursday evenings.

Oddly, though, the guilt thing only really works on Thursdays. During the rest of the week, most of us still behave like we’re part of the nine-to-five set. And that, well, it’s really missing the point of academic life.

I have a constant refrain for my friends back in England that goes something like: “The problem with grad school is that the work never stops; there’s always something to do.” This is true, but misleading.

Sure, the work never stops. Yeah, there’s always something that needs to be done. But, you know there’s another way of looking at this.

You see, if you always have stuff to do, then you always have time to do it. If your life is a constant stream of work, then you should feel free to take your breaks when you want, and damn the consequences.

On some terribly depressing but fundamental level, we’re here to work. In fact, we love to work (well, in theory at least) and, as a consequence, we often take our freedom for granted — by ignoring it.

How many times have you told yourself that you would go out on some particular evening only to be foiled by the dangerous allure of esoteric knowledge and the nagging sense that this “going out” business should be left to the weekend?

Now, I’m all for the acquisition of knowledge (we wouldn’t, after all, want it left in the hands of the masses), but you shouldn’t let get in the way of a cold beer too often.

During those occasional (once or twice an hour) periods of remorse for the life I left behind, I have been know to seek out advice on how best to deal with grad life.

The most frequent recommendation is to treat school like a job: Wake up, go to work, come home and pretend you’re a grown up. While this isn’t necessarily a bad way to stay sane, it is, however, kind of pathetic.

Routine is the worst thing about being an adult. Embracing it may make you feel a little more in control of your existence, but such control is both illusory and not nearly as much fun as a Tuesday morning margarita.

Like most things, though, there is a flip side to pre-noon cocktails — the freedom to drink at any hour only really exists alongside the freedom to work at any hour. That is to say, there are no lunchtime Long Islands without an equal number of Saturday night study sessions.

Grad school can kill you. It can drag you down to the floor and beat you to a bloody pulp, until there is nothing left of your human spark.

Hmmm. On reflection, that previous paragraph may have involved the very slightest touch of exaggeration. You won’t actually be pummelled — it will just feel that way.

However, there’s no need to conform. You can choose to embrace your imprisonment by using your autonomy to break free from the strictures of convention. You can walk the path of liberty and spurn the dull allure of ordinariness. You can...

Well, you get the idea. And even if you don’t buy that sort of pseudo-highbrow chatter, remember that a stiff 9 a.m. drink takes the edge off most things.

Go on. Take the day off. You know you want to. If you do decide to have a holiday, email navins@stanford.edu with your tales.