Wednesdays

WEDNESDAY IS THAT CONFUSED MIDDLE CHILD OF THE WEEK—TOO FAR FROM THE WEEKEND TO CELEBRATE, TOO CLOSE TO MONDAY TO RECOVER. IT’S THE DAY THAT SHOWS UP LIKE, “HEY GUYS, WE’RE HALFWAY THERE!” …HALFWAY TO WHAT? BURNOUT? BANKRUPTCY? EXISTENTIAL CRISIS? WEDNESDAY IS THE PARTICIPATION TROPHY OF THE CALENDAR.

EVERYBODY CALLS IT “HUMP DAY” LIKE THAT MAKES IT SEXY. IT’S NOT SEXY. THERE’S NOTHING ATTRACTIVE ABOUT WAKING UP IN THE MIDDLE OF THE WEEK FEELING LIKE A HALF-DEFLATED BALLOON. “HUMP DAY” SOUNDS LIKE A CELEBRATION FOR PEOPLE WHO PEAK AT MEDIOCRITY. THERE’S NO HUMP—JUST A LONG, SLOW, DOWNHILL ROLL INTO MADNESS.

YOU WAKE UP ON WEDNESDAY AND YOUR BODY’S ALREADY ARGUING WITH YOUR BRAIN. YOUR BACK HURTS FOR NO REASON. YOU’RE STARING AT YOUR COFFEE LIKE IT OWES YOU CHILD SUPPORT. YOU’VE BEEN AT WORK THREE DAYS, BUT IT FEELS LIKE A DECADE. EVERYONE’S WALKING AROUND LOOKING DEAD INSIDE, PRETENDING THEY’RE “FINE.” THE OFFICE ENERGY IS CORPORATE ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE.

AND THE MEETINGS—OH, THE WEDNESDAY MEETINGS. THIS IS WHEN EVERYONE SUDDENLY REMEMBERS THEY HAVE “UPDATES.” NOBODY’S DOING REAL WORK; THEY’RE JUST SPEAKING IN CIRCLES TO PROVE THEY EXIST. “LET’S TOUCH BASE.” TOUCH BASE ON WHAT, BRENDA? THE BASE IS ON FIRE. THE WHOLE STADIUM’S COLLAPSING. STOP TOUCHING THINGS.

BY NOON, YOU’RE IN THAT “I DON’T CARE” ERA. YOU’RE JUST DOING ENOUGH TO LOOK BUSY. YOU’RE REPLYING TO EMAILS WITH EMOJIS AND CALLING IT COMMUNICATION. YOU’RE TAKING BATHROOM BREAKS LIKE FIELD TRIPS. YOU STARE OUT THE WINDOW LIKE YOU’RE IN A MUSIC VIDEO ABOUT REGRET.

THEN COMES THE AFTERNOON SLUMP—THAT DEMON HOUR WHERE TIME FREEZES AND REALITY MELTS. IT’S LIKE YOUR SOUL’S ON DIAL-UP. EVERY TASK TAKES FIVE YEARS. YOU’RE READING THE SAME SENTENCE FOUR TIMES. SOMEONE ASKS YOU A SIMPLE QUESTION AND YOUR BRAIN BLUE-SCREENS. IF TUESDAY WAS A HEADACHE, WEDNESDAY IS THE MIGRAINE THAT FOLLOWED.

BUT HERE’S THE FLIP—WEDNESDAY IS A TEST, NOT A TRAGEDY. IT’S THE UNPAID INTERNSHIP OF EXISTENCE. YOU SURVIVE IT BY EMBRACING THE DELUSION. BLAST MUSIC. SAY WEIRD STUFF IN MEETINGS JUST TO SEE WHO’S STILL PAYING ATTENTION. ANSWER EMAILS WITH MYSTERY. CALL YOUR COFFEE “THERAPY.” BECOME THE CHAOS THE WEEK WASN’T READY FOR.

ONE FRIEND TOLD ME THEY TREAT WEDNESDAY LIKE THE WEEK’S “MIDTERM EXAM.” THEY WALK IN LIKE THEY’RE CHEATING. NO NOTES, NO FEAR, JUST PURE VIBES. THEY SAID, “IF I CAN MAKE IT THROUGH WEDNESDAY WITHOUT COMMITTING A FELONY, I’VE ALREADY WON.” THAT’S THE ENERGY. HALFWAY DEAD BUT STILL FUNNY.

WEDNESDAY ISN’T A WALL; IT’S A MIRROR. IT SHOWS YOU WHO YOU REALLY ARE WHEN YOU’RE TIRED, FED UP, AND STILL SHOWING UP. I DON’T SURVIVE WEDNESDAY— I PERFORM IT. WHEN WEDNESDAY BRINGS THE RULES, I BRING A FIRE DRILL. WHEN WEDNESDAY BRINGS THE DOGS, I GIVE THEM TREATS AND CALL THEM MY STAFF.

IT’S WEDNESDAY, BABY. HALF HELL, HALF HOPE. THE WEEK’S GLITCH, THE WORLD’S JOKE. LAUGH THROUGH IT. DANCE THROUGH IT. EAT SOMETHING GREASY. TAKE A BREAK YOU CAN’T AFFORD. BECAUSE IF THE WEEK’S GONNA KEEP MAKING SENSE, YOU MIGHT AS WELL BE THE REASON IT DOESN’T. WEDNESDAY IS THAT WEIRD FRIEND THAT SHOWS UP UNINVITED, EATS ALL YOUR SNACKS, AND THEN TRIES TO GIVE YOU LIFE ADVICE. IT’S CONFUSED, INTRUSIVE, AND TOO COMFORTABLE IN YOUR HOUSE. YOU DON’T HATE WEDNESDAY, YOU JUST DON’T TRUST IT. IT’S GOT THAT “I’M TRYING MY BEST” ENERGY WHILE RUINING YOUR MOOD IN REAL TIME.

EVERYBODY TRIES TO MAKE WEDNESDAY SOUND INSPIRATIONAL. “HALFWAY THERE!” NO, WE’RE HALF DEAD, NOT HALFWAY. “KEEP PUSHING!” PUSH WHAT, JENKINS? MY SANITY’S ALREADY ON LIFE SUPPORT. THE ONLY THING I’M PUSHING IS THE LIMITS OF HR POLICY. WEDNESDAY IS LIKE BEING STUCK IN A GROUP PROJECT RUN BY ANXIETY AND REGRET.

BY 10 A.M., YOU’RE STARING AT YOUR SCREEN WONDERING IF THIS IS REAL LIFE OR SOME KIND OF PUNISHMENT FOR SOMETHING YOU DID IN A PAST LIFE. YOU’RE TYPING, BUT YOUR SOUL’S OUTSIDE SCREAMING INTO THE VOID. YOU’VE HIT THAT POINT WHERE YOUR BRAIN’S MAKING THE WINDOWS ERROR NOISE JUST TRYING TO SPELL YOUR OWN NAME. WEDNESDAY ISN’T WORK—IT’S PERFORMANCE ART ABOUT HUMAN SUFFERING.

THEN YOU LOOK AROUND AND REALIZE EVERYBODY ELSE IS DYING TOO. ONE PERSON’S ZONED OUT, STARING INTO SPACE LIKE THEY’RE HAVING FLASHBACKS. ANOTHER’S OVERCOMPENSATING WITH “POSITIVE ENERGY.” THERE’S ALWAYS THAT ONE GUY WHO WON’T STOP SAYING, “WE’RE ALMOST THERE!”—LIKE BRO, YOU SAID THAT YESTERDAY. THIS IS A CULT NOW.

AND LUNCHTIME? PURE DELUSION. YOU EAT SOMETHING GREASY ENOUGH TO ERASE A DECADE OF BAD DECISIONS AND TELL YOURSELF YOU’LL “START FRESH” TOMORROW. YOU WON’T. YOU KNOW YOU WON’T. YOU’RE RUNNING ON COFFEE, PETTY ENERGY, AND A PRAYER TO WHATEVER GOD RUNS THE WIFI.

BY 3 P.M., TIME STOPS EXISTING. THE CLOCK IS MOCKING YOU. YOU SWEAR YOU’VE BEEN STARING AT THE SAME MINUTE FOR ETERNITY. YOUR BODY’S AT WORK, BUT YOUR SOUL’S OUT BACK SMOKING A CIGARETTE AND WONDERING IF “FAKE YOUR OWN DEATH” IS STILL ILLEGAL. WEDNESDAY HAS YOU WRITING ESCAPE PLANS ON STICKY NOTES.

BUT HERE’S THE BEAUTY OF IT: WEDNESDAY IS YOUR TRAINING GROUND. IT’S WHERE YOU LEARN TO LAUGH WHILE DYING INSIDE. IT’S THE DAY THAT BUILDS CHARACTER—AND BY CHARACTER, I MEAN INSANITY. YOU DON’T FIGHT WEDNESDAY; YOU FLIRT WITH IT. YOU MAKE EYE CONTACT WITH THE CHAOS AND SAY, “I SEE YOU, BABY.” YOU CRACK JOKES IN MEETINGS. YOU TYPE “LOL” IN EMAILS WHEN NOTHING IS FUNNY. YOU EMBRACE THE ABSURD.

A FRIEND ONCE SAID, “IF YOU CAN MAKE IT THROUGH WEDNESDAY WITHOUT TELLING SOMEONE OFF, YOU’RE BASICALLY ENLIGHTENED.” THAT’S THE BAR. NOT SUCCESS. NOT PRODUCTIVITY. SURVIVAL WITH STYLE.

WEDNESDAY IS THE JOKER OF THE WEEK—ALL CHAOS, NO PLAN, AND STILL GETS THE LAST LAUGH. I DON’T ENDURE IT; I EMBARRASS IT. WHEN WEDNESDAY BRINGS THE RULES, I BRING GLITTER AND AN ATTITUDE. WHEN WEDNESDAY BRINGS THE DOGS, I BRING BACON AND A LEASH.

IT’S WEDNESDAY, BABY. THE DAY THAT CAN’T KILL YOU BUT WILL DEFINITELY TRY. SO YOU MIGHT AS WELL BE THE ONE HOLDING THE MATCH, LAUGHING WHILE IT ALL BURNS.