Contemplating the Wednesday Blues

It's a cyclical thing.  Perhaps.  I don't know.  I struggle most with depression on Wednesday.  Whether it's chemical or psychological, it's real, at least to me.  Maybe just something about being in the middle - the weekend is not here yet, and there is still too much of the work week remaining,

Thursday shows more promise, what with the whiff of Friday just around the corner.

Friday is great, because, if the things work write, that is is the best day for fiction writing, and I can let my imagination soar.

Saturday is variable, with household chores, movies and TV and reading, sometimes a meal out or shopping, sometimes even more writing.  If I'm in the mood, I can spin out a Saturday Political Soapbox, get my conservatives friends riled (at least those few who pay attention).

Sunday mornings are most often spent in church.  This will include an adult Sunday School class that will start up this weekend.  I love the topics and discussions.  It is a Sunday School class like none other in Southeast Georgia.  Sunday afternoon involves more household chores, some TV and reading, and during the fall, football.  Alison is a big Atlanta Falcons fan, and I follow the Detroit Lions.  We usually don't have to worry about too many postseason games from those two.  Often on Sunday afternoons, I fight the dread that the weekend is coming to an end, and the work week will once again begin,

Mondays are, well, Mondays.  The work week is here, and there is nothing to be done.  There is no running or hiding from it.  The next weekend is too far way to even think about.  So you just get through the day as best you can.  On busy weeks, you're more worried about getting the work done, and not so focused on the next break yet.

Tuesdays the depression sets in, but it is not as bad as Wednesday.  It's just starting to build, as the struggle between work and wanting out begins.  Often, Tuesdays and Thursdays are late, as I am often in plays, and their rehearsals are most frequently on those nights.  I might not come home until 9PM or later.  I really love to act, as any friend and/or regular reader of The Strait Line could tell. but as I age, the process gets to be a bit challenging.  It can be especially hard during the phase where you're trying to learn your lines, a phase I am in right now.

And then it's Wednesday again.  The hump is back, and the blues start playing in my mind.

But the song does not play forever, and within a day, I can smell the magical shores of the weekend.

I sip my Wednesday coffee, close my eyes, and try to picture myself on our screened in porch, delving into Agatha Christie, editing Crowley Stories, thinking about what I want my treat meal to be.

Nah.  It's not working yet.

But soon enough.

Soon enough.