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Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Eight Days a Week

February 3, 2010: I was thinking about how much I used to love Friday, but now I'm starting to see how that's evolved and it's really not Friday anymore. (And all of this, by the way, is merely symptomatic of my inability to stay present in my life.)

For starters, over the past few years I've grown increasingly fond of Thursday mornings, for I've come to see it really marks the beginning of my weekend. I reason that if I can manage to wake up on Thursday morning and get to work, I've pretty much got the week licked, and merely have to float my way through to Friday afternoon.

On the other end, I've long dreaded Sunday evenings as a depressing time of death and sadness. The weekend's over and the party is ending. All things must return to the grey, unimaginative robotronics of corporate life. (You get the idea.) But now, my fear of Monday begins late Saturday night, when the family's gone to sleep and I sit up in front of the TV trying to suck that last bit of sunshine out of the pomegranite fruit fest that is my weekend. The minute that TV turns off, I'm suddenly shipped sadly off into Sunday and all the depressing feelings that it encompasses.

Today, Wednesday, I suddenly realized that I'm starting to find a great exhileration when Wednesday afternoon finally roles around, because it's become my new Friday, or perhaps I should say my new Thursday. And now with Saturday night falling fast from favor, I'm coming to recognize that Mondays are really Tuesdays, more or less, and by the time Saturday morning comes, I may as well get ready to go to work.

I'm hoping that before long I'll come to see Sunday as the new Wednesday and not dread Saturday mornings as much as I do.


  1. this just makes me hysterical...

  2. It's like some kind of huge, cosmic jet lag. Or living to a non-Gregorian calendar. Perhaps if you adopted the French Revolutionaries' 10-day week you'd miss out that Sunday malaise? They abandoned Sunday altogether.