Dear Tuesdays

Dear Tuesdays,

Why you gotta be like that? See, Monday is supposed to be the bad guy, not you. Monday is supposed to drag, and we are supposed to drag right along with it. But instead, Monday gives me free breakfast, a long meeting first thing in the morning, and consequently, a shorter work day. Monday is almost nice to me!

But what do you have for me? Sadness, despair, and heartache. Lynette spends the day at home, so I have to check voicemails for her. I check her emails. I answer all the phone calls I can reach. You’d think being busier would make time pass a little faster. And yet, you drag, interminable, ceaseless, everlasting, for hours and hours. The clock hands slow to half-speed, and my back twists into knots as I spend endless hours in my chair, waiting for five o’clock to come.


Your one redeeming factor is the evenings. Lynette is gone, and every week I can choose what I want to do with the evening. Walks to the library, dinner at the Padres, baby watching (similar to bird watching, but a bit more of a contact sport), curling up in a chair with a book and tea, baths and facials, sitting on a bench outside my flat and watching people, the options are endless. Yes Tuesdays, if it wasn’t for your evenings, I think I would skip you altogether, but as it is, I suppose I will keep my weeks at seven days. But really, would you mind spreading your charm a little more evenly throughout the day?


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