In which our Lady sees a flaw in the Calendaring system
The trouble with Wednesday is that it comes every week. It is true, Wednesday never fails. It is something awful to see a hulking Wednesday muscling in after a particularly fine Tuesday. The problem with Wednesday is this: it’s in the middle of the week. It is the day I never seem to have anything scheduled. It is the day that inevitably ends up being the coldest and therefore the most house-shut-in day of the week. It is the day that my energy level peaks after several days of rest from the weekend, and conversely the day that Jon’s exhaustion catches up with him and therefore makes the evenings truly boring. It is the day that things I’ve ordered from Amazon should have arrived but haven’t, the day that leads inevitably to paperwork or some other organizationally boring task.
Eva feels the same way about Wednesdays. Despite her inability to speak full paragraphs, or even full sentences clearly, she makes her preference known. At 11 am she brought me my shoes, hat, and scarf. She insisted I put them on, perhaps hoping that an outdoor excursion would follow. Alas, 3 degrees is just enough to keep me staunchly indoors. She had failed. With nothing better to do than watch Baby Einstein again, Eva eventually consented to go down for a 3 hour nap.
In the meantime, I wile away my hours by cooking, reading, and blogging. It is inevitable that I have a streak of mind-boggling efficiency on this the most lingering of days. I even manage to do some Christmas shopping online, wishing the whole time that I could drive a car and go do it in person. This from a self-proclaimed home-body who greatly dislikes both shopping and stores. The trouble with Wednesday is that I had a seizure 3 months ago and by law can’t drive for a while. (Sigh) Tonight I will urge Jon to drive me somewhere. Instead, he will sneakily fall asleep on the couch before we’ve even had dinner. It is then that the dullness will drive me insane, and then who knows what will happen! At this point, I feel that my options are either to sleep straight through from Tuesday to Thursday, possibly stealing my own car out of the garage and driving illegally, shopping online and spending exorbitant amounts of money, or the writing of knock-off poetry.
Wednesday, Wednesday, can’t take that day.
Wednesday, Wednesday, you’re all that I hoped you wouldn’t be.
And Thursday morning—I can guarantee,
That in a week, Wednesday will again be here with me…
