Dear Thursday,
I think you are my favorite day of the week, in a traditional 5 days of work/school, 2 days rest cycle. I can't be sure; societal programming is heavily in favor of Saturday, Friday, and even Wednesday. Sunday has managed to become a calm domestic cornerstone, its enforced sedentariness serving as a foundation more than a prison. Maybe I love you so much because you don't have these expectations that you inevitably fail to live up to, like the other days.
Of course, Monday night is always the swing favorite - the night I feel most like going out, being social, and getting drunk. There's no way to compete with the wildly contradicting emotions that bespotted night puts me through. But you, Thursday, your slow unwinding afternoons have provided me with the kind of pleasure completely unexpected from the day before the day before I'm allowed to sleep in. You, after ramping up to full speed, are the strange joy of taking your foot off the pedal and just drifting.
Something in the way you unfold, you serve as a slow coasting down to a calm rest; you're the little waves caused by the cresting of the larger wave. If Wednesday is truly "hump day," when everyone hits the apex of the week, then you, honey, are the afterglow.
Love,
Vi
P.S. Tell Friday to fuck off. I hate that arrogant prick.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment