I’ve always thought it strange for there to be seven days in a week. For creatures who, above all else, seem to crave some sort of order in this chaotic world, it doesn’t sit right for there to be an odd number of days. Particularly seven. Seven is the worst of all the odd numbers. If I ever ran for government, adding or subtracting a day would be my main pledge.
Obviously, if I added a day, it would come before Monday, but it would be an extra weekend day. Eight days seems far more manageable, particularly with (for most people) three of those being ‘off days’. If I was to subtract a day, it’d be Wednesday for the chop. Wednesday is the worst day. A pointless little island stranded in the middle of the week. Two weekdays behind it, two ahead. ‘Oh but it’s Humpday!’ I hear you cry, and that’s why you shall receive nothing by my most rancid ire. Anyone who calls Wednesday Humpday should be kicked repeatedly by camels, so they have nothing but dread upon thinking of a hump.
Wednesday is also the only day that has a stupid spelling. When everyone seems to pronounce it ‘Whenzday’ spelling it WED-NES-DAY is pointless. It’s like a parent (or someone making an individual decision) choosing to spell their (child’s) name differently from the norm and then complaining when everyone spells it wrong. Often, it’s people choosing a Y instead of an I, or vice versa. You know who you are.
If I fucked Wednesday off, we’d have a better work-life balance. Four days on, two off. If we went mad, we could even swap Friday to an off day and it’d be perfectly balanced (as all things should be), but that’s possibly hoping for too much. We are slaves to the economy after all.
Not to mention that Friday is national ‘do no work day’ anyway. Well, for those of us who don’t work in a hospital that is. If you do, you should not be living by this rule. It would go against your Hippocratic oath.
It used to be ‘get slightly drunk at work day’ but I had to tone that down as it was becoming more akin to ‘obviously wasted at work day’, not to mention I switched jobs to somewhere far away from a pub. Though I have recently been made redundant, so that could be about to change. That is, if I get another job. The number of ‘thanks but no thanks,’ responses I appear to be getting is making it look far more likely that I am to have to set myself on fire in a ditch somewhere.
I had French toast this morning. I’ve started to fall in love with the French as they seem to have their heads screwed on right. They looked at the toast of the rest of the world and thought, ‘that’s all well and good, but wouldn’t it be better soaked in eggs and milk, dusted in cinnamon and covered in fruit (maple syrup optional)? Yes it would, France, yes it would. This guy had a pain au chocolat. Once again, the French looked at bread and thought, ‘sure, but what if it had chocolate in it?’ Dauphinois potatoes, ‘potatoes are all well and good, but what if we smothered the fuckers in cream?’ What other nation would have come up with that? Certainly not the Germans. They’d have looked at all those things and thought ‘Yes, but what if instead we just had sausages?’
Anyway, that’s all you’re getting. Blogging every day was a terrible idea; I have nothing of value to say.