I could never get the hang of Thursdays. No, that’s a lie.

On my way towards the elevator I ran into the dentist who works down the hall from me. We talked about the weather and the fact that tomorrow is Friday, and what that meant to each of us. He liked Fridays; I found them to be more stressful as they were full of preparing for the workload of the coming week. He murmured in understanding. We got out on the third floor and went our ways.

Each day of the week means something to someone. It’s felt very natural, working where I do, to slip into a weekly rhythm that assigns each day its own identity and to see each week as a separate animal from the one that preceded it. Mondays are slow and easy, a warm up; given to easing back into the swing of things and maybe plotting out, cup of coffee in hand, the plans and goals for the week ahead. Tuesdays are the build and the push, the most aggressive of days: energy is still high and you’ve built on the strength of a nice beginning, hopefully. Wednesdays you just hold course; being the crest of the week doesn’t mean you’re going downhill. And then there are Thursdays.

I guess the title of this blog is itself a lie – Thursdays are tricky. You start to feel the wear from getting up at 6am every day, the same way you start to feel the burn from a run when you enter the last leg of it. It’s the no-man’s land between here and there, before you tumble into the coda of Friday. I wonder where Arthur Dent would stand on all this.

I find it useful to break up my week in this manner, but I know that’s just my approach. Others have their weekends on Monday, or see Saturdays as something to be feared. But I wonder, however different schedules break up their lives, how other people construct their own narratives about the progression of days, if they do at all. If there is a point to it. For me it  helps to know that you’ve got another one coming up; that if this one didn’t go as well as you hoped, that you’ll have another chance to do better next time.

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