It must be Tuesday. I never could get the hang of Tuesdays. They’re not-quite-Mondays, which is, admittedly, a point in their favour, but they are also a-long-way-from-Fridays, and so I have no real affection for them, either.
I woke this morning — barely — and was prodded and cajoled out the door by the lovely Sarah, who patiently poured me a coffee, wrapped her arms around me and told me she believes in me. Not a terrible way to start the day, all things considered.
Starting a new job has never been harder. I’ve reached that age where I know how I like things, and I like order — chaos, even so-called organized chaos — gives me anxiety, and when I get anxiety at work, my eyes tend to well up with frustrated tears. I have to be manly and pretend there’s something in my eye, or excuse myself and go to the bathroom, but it’s a terribly embarrassing thing.
I’m trying to learn to live with the world that I have, and make realistic improvements or additions, instead of wailing and lamenting about the world I cannot have — that utopian ideal that will forever be out of reach. And I’m trying to apply that philosophy to all aspects of my life — including, right now, the chaotic system (if it can be called that) at work that is driving me up the wall with its disorganization. Work with what you have; not what you wish you had. I keep telling myself this, because it’s only Tuesday. The tire marks on the wall will wash off with some Mr. Clean, I’m told. Those Magic Erasers they make are, well… magic.
Tuesdays — they’re like Monday’s leftovers that nobody really wants.
Tuesdays — at least they’re not a hangover.
Tuesdays are the new black.
Tuesdays — the other white meat.
Nah, that one doesn’t work at all. But now I understand why so many places try to jazz up Tuesday. You know — $2 Tuesdays, 2 for Tuesdays, Toonie Tuesdays (in Canada)
Tuesday is the week’s way of saying: To Be Continued…
How was your Tuesday?