I Hate Wednesdays


I recently had a revelation.  The day of the week that I hate the most is not the widely-detested Monday, but rather is, far and away, Wednesday.

The best day of the week is, of course, Saturdays because they’re right in middle of the weekend, as defined the American way as lasting from Friday through Sunday.  On Saturdays, I get to sleep in, look forward to catching a movie at a theater and have a long, nice, relaxing dinner together with the family.  Nothing, not even work, can ruin a day that starts out in perfect fashion without an alarm going off.  And the best part about Saturdays is the way they end: with another long night of sleep that is not rudely interrupted.

Because I value sleep over pretty much anything, Friday comes after Saturday on my list of favorite days of the week.  Yes, there’s that annoying thing called work on Fridays, but for all practical purposes, Fridays are like half-days because people are already in weekend mode by the early afternoon anyways.  By 3:00 P.M. on a Friday, work is mostly a lost cause, so I figure I might as well just give up completely and look forward to the hours and hours, hopefully numbering in double digits, of sleep that is coming my way.

Closely following Fridays on my favorites list is Sundays, regarding which my feelings have gone completely 180.  During college, I hated Sundays because Sunday late afternoon/evenings/late nights were a living hell.  Starting around 5:00 P.M., I dearly paid for the papers that I punted on from Monday through Thursday (since I figured I should put a lot of thought into writing them when I have time over the weekend), that I ignored on Friday and Saturday (because it seemed inhumane to do anything on weekends that required thinking) and that I procrastinated on on Sunday afternoon (because nothing is more important than watching football live).  Now that I’m out of college and freed from terrible things called homework–which, come to think of it, seems like an oxymoron since I define work as something that is done at the workplace–Sundays have become like Saturdays, except what comes after Sunday sucks.

Of course, “suck,” like good, is rather relative.  I had a colleague who used to hate Mondays, doubly so if it was raining, but I’ve discovered that if I can just get over the fact that the weekend is over, Mondays can be quite rewarding.  Sure, there’s not much fun involved with going back to work, but I’m resigned to the fact that I need money to eat, that I need to remain employed to get money and remaining employed requires me to report to work, preferably on a constant and periodic basis.  I’ve figured that if I have to work, I might as well be productive, and the fun, sleep or both that I have gotten over the weekend ensures that of all the workdays, Mondays are when I still have enough energy to tell myself to make the most out of a sucky situation.

In fifth place, in the bottom half of the likable days of the week list, is Thursday.  Thursdays are mixed bag.  On the one hand, there’s no hope of being productive by then since whatever reservoir of fun and sleep I accumulated over the weekend is long exhausted.  On the other hand, Thursdays are when I can keep on repeating the following words over and over again:  “tomorrow is Friday, tomorrow is Friday, tomorrow is Friday.”  The thought of the second, first and third most favorite days of the week that follow Thursday almost makes Thursday bearable.

Tuesdays, on the other hand, border on the unbearable.  Tuesdays are when the next weekend is way too far in advance to look forward to and the previous weekend is too long ago to keep me going.  Perhaps there is some hope during the early parts of Tuesdays, but taken as a whole, it’s futile to seek productivity akin to Mondays.  And if there is no productivity at work, there is little satisfaction, which is the reason Tuesday lands second from the bottom on the list.

This, of course, leaves Wednesdays, all the way at the bottom of the barrel.  Every Wednesday morning, I must come to terms with the following dreadful realization:  it has been a long two days from the fun, restful weekend, and it is an even longer two days until Friday, to be followed by the even more magical Saturday.  Wednesdays are essentially the day of the week version of the season of spring: there just isn’t anything redeemable about it.

This post is dedicated to Peter Saad (who appears unnamed in the post), who encouraged me to write about how I hate rainy Mondays.  I had a fairly advanced draft going about that which I rewrote when I realized, after five years, that I hate Wednesdays far more.

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