One long hall of office doors in various stages of openess. Someone calls out from one of the offices to no one in particular, “What day is it?”
“Wednesday.”
“What? Are you sure? It feels like Tuesday!”
We all agree.
Tuesday is fresh. Not as green as Monday, when we all arrive a little weary from the weekend, not really at full speed. Everyone drinks an extra half cup of coffee or eats an office cookie. But Tuesday morning, we have hit our stride and the week still has enough hope and promise. It’s not quite, but almost, endless.
When Wednesday feels like Tuesday, for a few hours perhaps, we get to work in that Tuesday glow. We plan with a more time in mind; we line the week up in manageable pieces. And then something, some memory from the weekend, or some vague recollection that perhaps two weekdays have passed because didn’t Jeff mention that report on Monday? So does that mean today is really….wait...Wednesday?
Suddenly, Wednesday comes crashing down the hall like John Goodman in a Coen brothers movie. He may or may not be drunk but he is definitely sweaty. He sits down with that Wednesday know-it-all grin, red-faced, and puts his Wednesday feet up on your desk and says, as if you care, “You know what? I like you…”
Wednesday lies.
But a Tuesday feeling like a Wednesday is not the worst. A Monday that feels like a Thursday hurts. A Wednesday that feels like a Monday requires pills. A Thursday that feels like a Friday could mean you risk getting fired.
But sometimes, Sunday afternoon at 3 feels like Saturday at 10:30 in the morning. This lasts only minutes. But you can smell the wisteria. The day is still unfolding. She takes your chin in her hand and leaves it there a second longer than she should. Saturday. Saturday. Saturday.
No comments:
Post a Comment