“The blank days/are heaped up ahead of me,/a sierra I have to cross/in order to get there. Where?” – Anne Stevenson, “Calendar”
Sunday reclines lazily, stretching out limbs in many directions like a sinewy cat. Monday is clinical and tight, all efficiency, gets work done. Tuesday a little bewildered – is it still Monday? No – and catches up its work to rival Monday’s. Wednesday straddles the middle, it lies in a swale of green grass and soaks up rain. Thursday all anticipation, the almost-weekend is almost-here (Friday), it takes credit if it gets anything done. Friday. Celebration! The half-holiday day. Leaves work early if it can, dresses down, maybe comes in late if no one notices.
Take a breath.
Now comes Saturday. The work-in-the-garage, go-to-the-hardware-store, watch-a-ballgame, take-the-kids-to-soccer-practice day.
Saturday goes out on a date night with its sweetie. Or someone else’s.