Guys. Guys. Holy shit, guys. It’s only fucking Wednesday. How the fuck is it only fucking Wednesday? I’m 25 years old. It’s been about two decades since I’ve learned the days of the week, but I swear this week is making me question if I’ve got it wrong. I know, according to my first-grade teacher Mrs. DeLarosa, that Wednesday is the third day of the week. However, I also know that this week has gone on for roughly five days already, and yet, today is still Wednesday.
I don’t know how this is possible.
Was there some kind of black hole situation that warped the entire earth back a few days? Is there an enormous planet NASA isn’t aware of, just chilling on the edge of our orbit, slowing our planet’s rotation with its gravitational pull? Is it aliens? Is it a government conspiracy to get an extra couple of days of production out of the American workforce this week? I don’t know, but I’ve been listening to a lot of podcasts on quantum physics and space, and it’s really opened my mind. I mean, I don’t really understand anything that’s being discussed, but that’s how you know you’re learning, right?
And it’s not just me that’s baffled by the length of this week. Already today, I’ve had two coworkers ask me what my plans are for the weekend. That’s Friday talk, isn’t it? I mean, maybe Thursday if you want to get cocky, but you can’t start asking people about weekend plans on Wednesday morning. We just moved out of “Do anything fun over the weekend?” territory, for god’s sake. How am I supposed to know what I’m doing this weekend? It’s three fucking days away. What kind of planner do you think I am? I’ll find out what I’m doing when I text the group chat on Friday, like everyone else in the world. No, no. The only explanation for asking me that question is that, they too, don’t know what day it is.
Maybe it’s the fact that each individual day is stretching on so long that’s throwing me off. Yesterday lasted about 39 hours according to my estimations, and to be honest, I can’t even remember what I did on Monday. Maybe it was because I was still battling an aggressive two-day hangover, but I think it’s because Monday morning was roughly two weeks ago. I know Einstein said time is relative or whatever, but I thought that was more of a pithy saying than an actual scientific fact. Like, he was just dressing up “time flies when you’re having fun,” or “YOLO” and making it sound scientific. I didn’t know that was a real theory, although it explains why my girlfriend thinks I only last two minutes in bed when it feels like an hour to me. She must be having a lot of fun for time to be flying that fast, I guess. God, I’m awesome at sex.
But I digress. The point is, the fact that this week is only half over is a bunch of bullshit. We all know it’s really Friday today, or at the very least, Thursday. But this week has the balls to try and claim it’s only Wednesday? Fuck that. I’m not going to be bullied by some pussy, early-August period of time. I’ve done everything I can to make this week move faster. I’ve literally asked my bosses for more work. Do you know how insane that is? I hate work. We all do. It’s the worst. And yet, I actively sought out more, because I was so bored that I had nothing to do. Literally the opposite of my usual modus operandi, which involves hiding in the handicap bathroom stall anytime my boss starts walking towards my half of the office. And you know what? They didn’t have any more work for me.
That proves it, something weird is going on, and I blame this fucking week. This stupid, unnecessarily long, breaking-the-time-space-continuum, week. We just need to accept that the universe is broken, and this week is never going to end. Our grandkid’s grandkid’s grandkid’s will be born, and it will only be Thursday. In millions of years, the sun will go super nova and all life as we know it will cease to exist, and it will finally be Friday morning. Fuck this week. I’m going to happy hour tonight and forcing a weekend. .
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