I start out each week so well. So many plans, such dreams and visions of grandeur. For me, Mondays are always marked with resolve and an absolutely steadfast faith in the integrity of the week that lies ahead. Forget New Year’s resolutions, I make New Week’s resolutions. 

will make it to the gym by 6:15 every morning.

will eat clean.

will read an entire book. And the news.

will make time to practice for the concerts I have coming up. 

will hang out with those fabulous friends I haven’t seen in too long. I will be organized. I will keep my apartment clean and my dishes washed. I will be fabulous and perfect!

And then Wednesday hits. 

Wednesday doesn’t just happen, it does not simply pass by with the rose-tinted hue of Monday and Tuesday. Wednesday attacks with an “I’ll show you” vengeance.

Wednesday hits and we’re out of dishwashing powder and I haven’t practiced my excerpts and the book I started last Friday is at the bottom of  my bag with a bookmark in the second chapter and sticky stuff all over the cover from my leaky lunch. Wednesday hits and I’m wearing uncomfortable shoes and the bus is late and now it’s really late and now it’s not coming at all so now I’m late and there go two piano lessons I’ve just had to cancel because my incredibly reputable ass wasn’t there on time. Wednesday happens and I’m feeling sick because I forgot to eat lunch mainly because it was Wednesday but also because I didn’t pack enough the night before because Wednesday had leeched into Tuesday evening and was preemptively assailing me.

Because it was Wednesday.

And by the way, being out of dishwashing powder is a slightly lower rung on the ladder of crises than being out of toilet paper, but we’re rapidly approaching toilet paper emergency status. 

It’s okay, though. I’ll have a beer (sorry, clean eating). I’ll make dinner. I’ll practice late (sorry, 6am workout or in the rare event I make it, sorry to the people dealing with me around 3pm). I’ll dig the book out of my bag and get to it at some point. 

The illusion of control (of my life, of time, of others, of the world) is so hard for me to give up. Maybe that’s why Wednesdays beat it out of me.

As it turns out,  I just may be better for it. 

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